Sword Princess
by Lemurian-Girl
Summary: From innocent child to murderous fighter. From cold wanderer to loving mother and wife. This is the tale of a life traveled over many paths. This is Karla's story.
1. Age Seven

**Karla: Age Seven**

To the horizon and back again, Karla could see nothing but grass swaying slightly in the wind. The setting sun cast a blood-red glow over the flat terrain, blinding her but still making it possible for her to see that there was nothing around for miles. She twisted around; facing her backside was more of the grassland, quickly becoming shrouded with the shadow of night. Though it was still warm out, Karla shivered.

She peered to the right, but still no camp met her eye. Whimpering slightly, she ventured a look to the left of her small form. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it, a thin line of smoke rising. It was too far off to make out if it was her camp or not, but she was sure it was. Really, how far could she have wandered off?

Karla clutched her apron, which was filled with dry and woody grass stems, and pulled it up against her stomach protectively. Though she meant to walk, her foot hastened with every step, until she broke out into a careless run. A few twigs of her precious loot slipped out, but she did not care. She was scared being out here all alone, and she knew it was only a matter of time when there was only the moon to illuminate the plains. Then she would be truly lost.

Five figures came into view at that campfire. Karla halted and stared at them curiously. It was only her father and two of her brothers at their encampment; who were these other men? She squinted her eyes to try to recognize them, but she found that none of the men resembled her family.

Her frail body quivered as she backed off and dashed into another direction. She doubted that any of the men had caught sight of her, and she feared the idea if they had and were coming after her. Her Father had told her stories of bad men roaming Sacae and taking advantage of young girls. Finally, she collapsed, sobbing against the prickly grass. It was hopeless; she would never be found. Some nomads would stumble across her body months later, curled into a ball with tears still staining her face.

"Karla? Is that you?" a familiar voice spoke after many minutes in this position. Her head shot up and glanced around wildly. With a single hand, she rubbed the tears off her face. A shadow loomed over her, but it was no stranger. Instead, it was a blessing. "Thank Mother Earth, you're alright." It was Karel.

Her older brother held out a hand to help her up. His eyes wandered to the pile of timber that should have been used for the fire, but he shrugged, choosing to leave it be. Karla, meanwhile, dusted off her dress and tried to put on a braver appearance.

"Why are you all the way out here?" he questioned her. She shrugged and avoided his eyes. She knew their father would be angry; it was her responsibility to look after herself. Forcing others to do that was only a burden for them; it was a common childhood lesson.

"I got lost," she mumbled weakly.

"No matter," Karel said. "Let's hurry though. There is not much daylight left, and if we get stuck out here in the dark, we'll be dead meat." He turned and squatted, gesturing for her to climb on his back. Karla slipped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her from the ground.

Karla snuggled her head in the crook of his neck, enjoying the warmth of his back. The temperature was slowly dropping, and a cool wind had picked up. She lost track of the minutes as she instead timed the rhythm of his footsteps. It was a gentle beat, and it lulled her into a light doze.

When her eyes next opened, she was staring into the orange glow of the fire. She blinked a few times to clear away the grogginess before sitting upwards and yawning. Karel, her favorite brother, was no where in sight, nor was her father. Karl, the eldest son of the family, was tending to the pot hanging over the fire.

"Lot of good you are," Karl sneered after noticing she had risen. "Finally we get someone to help us with the cooking on our trips, and rather, he lets you sleep early." Karla bit her lip; she knew Karl felt strongly about the separation of feminine and masculine roles, almost as much as her father did. Yet for some reason, her father had granted her an exception this time.

"She is a young girl and has never been on such a trip before," the stern voice of her father, Jargon, spoke as if almost on cue. He stepped out from the shadows, commanding all respect and silence from his offspring. "She got lost, as I suppose should be expected of such a young, inexperienced girl, and being such, she was frightened and rendered exhausted by her trip." It was instantly understood that since she was a girl, she was not nearly as brave as Karl or Karel. But in a way, that was true. Had one of them trekked too far, they would handle the situation in a calmer manner than bursting into frenzied tears.

Karla soon felt Jargon's gaze wash over her. She murmured her apologies, and he seemed satisfied with that.

"Just remember, do not lose yourself in the city," he warned. He was speaking of Dargul. Karla had been raised in isolation for most her life, and she had been never been allowed to accompany her father and older brothers on their bimonthly trips to train, trade and make money in the Coliseum. Karel had convinced him, however, to let her tag along on this one trip. It was a victory for the both of them; Karel had been able to reason with Jargon, and Karla was granted a small freedom. Her father had just left her with a single warning: Dargul was a place of evil, and she should not afraid to shield her eyes should she see something not meant for female eyes.

"I will watch her, Father," Karel came into the circle of firelight.

"Agreed," Jargon said. "But this is an experience in which she must fend for herself. You tend to coddle her, Karel." Karel bowed his head respectfully.

"Understood, Father," he said. When Jargon left them to attend to some other matter, Karel took a seat next to Karla. He was twelve years old at this time, and even for his age, he was tall and lanky, though not nearly as tall as Karl was. An uneven mop of dark hair sat atop his head, but he kept it neat enough so that it wouldn't fall into his eyes during a fight.

"Tomorrow," he said excitedly. "You will be introduced to what our family is truly about." Karla was well aware of her heritage. Her family was a bloodline of renowned swordmasters. From a young age, she had watched her brothers train with Jargon day and night. Even the youngest in their family, four-year old Karmon, was already being subjected to small training sessions. Of course, they were all men. As a member of the female species, Karla was in charge of most menial chores along with Shalla, their mother. Though she saw the family sword hanging from the mantle, she never truly knew what it meant when it was said that one of her brothers would have to usurp the weapon from their father.

"Karel, is it scary in the city?" she ventured to ask. He shook his head.

"No, it's amazing. Much better than our little shack in the middle of nowhere," he assured her. "And the most amazing fighters gather from all around to fight at the Coliseum. But none can beat father. And one day, it'll be me out there that they fear." He was getting that enthusiastic tone in his voice again, the one that always slipped in when he talked about sword fighting.

"Isn't Karl already fighting in there?"

"Well, the minimum age is fifteen, so he had his first duel months ago," Karel said. "He was victorious, of course. He would rather die than wave the white flag. But if you remember, he bruised his ankle last week and doesn't want to play with death. I doubt you'll be able to watch him." Karla nodded, feigning interest. Of what she heard of the Coliseum, she didn't like it. It seemed brutal and mean.

But Karel loved it, and she looked up to him. He didn't tease her and push her around like Karl did. Then again, Karl pushed everyone around, and Karel resented that. Karla would keep her thoughts to herself, though; besides, as a girl, it was not her place to speak otherwise.

----

That night, Karla dreamed. Her mind flashed back to when she left their home. Karmon was tugging at her skirt's hem, staring up at her with his wide brown eyes.

"La-la," he said, using her childish nickname. "Don't go. I gots no one to play with." Karla gently pried his fingers off her woolen clothing. She found the young boy annoying, a nuisance if anything. He tagged after her like a sick puppy, always choosing her over Shalla.

"Play with yourself," she suggested, not trying to be rude. "I won't be gone long. And besides, one day you'll be going with them, and I'll be all alone." He wasn't convinced, and instead, he latched himself on to her leg. After a few unsuccessful attempts to shake him off, Shalla had come to her rescue, pulling the toddler away.

Then the young boy murmured something that had not been said in the real memory. "I will lose you forever. Don't go."

The scene faded. She was no longer in front of her home. She imagined that it was the stadium she had heard so much about. Great stands circled her and reached up to the heavens. It was filled with people screaming and shouting. The faces were all a blur. In front of her, there was a faceless man. He stood three times as tall as Jargon and twice as burly. He had no distinguishable features, just a blob shape of a human. In his hands, he carried a sword mightier than even the blade her father wielded.

He charged.

Suddenly, Karla was gripping the Wo Dao. She found it to be heavy and clumsy in her hands, yet nevertheless, she attempted to swing it. But it was stuck in the ground and would not move. She panicked as every second, the faceless man came closer.

Just as her opponent was about to strike, the sword freed itself from the dirt and cut effortlessly through the air and through the man. Still, there was no wound in the man. He was like a ghost; it sliced him without making any real impact. His weapon came swinging down on Karla, and all she could do was cower in fear.

That was where the dream ended. She woke briefly for a few moments before drifting back into sleep, forgetting about the faceless man until well into the next day.

-----

The Coliseum was more than Karla could have ever imagined, yet at the same time, it resembled the structure from her dream. It was immense, open-topped theater and in an oval shape. Throngs of people pushed through the stands, each raring for the best view. To her surprise, Karla found she was not the only woman spectator, though the other female attendees were nothing like her sweet mother or the quiet and kindly nomads who sometimes camped near their home.

A few of these women rode atop great white steeds with wings protruding from their backs. Their creatures were unlike any Karla had ever heard of, and the short skirts they were made Karla blush on their behalf. Some of the other females carried swords, swinging from their waists. Their skin was scarred and marked with the reminders of battle, a distinct contradiction to the unblemished skin a woman should have in Karla's mind. Still yet, some of them were clutching to large books. She would have taken them for scholars had she not seen them wait in line to apply for the rounds.

Jargon had split ways with them. His three children made their way into the stands. Karla had never seen so many people in her life. They moved so closely together that it was nearly suffocating. A bad stench also hung around the air. Body odor mingled with the scent of death, an unfamiliar redolence to Karla, but she recognized it nevertheless. Karl pushed through for them, with Karla right behind him. Karel placed a guiding hand on her shoulder and shielded her from some of the shadier characters hanging in the crowds.

They found a good spot just as the last warrior fell. The victor raised his hands in triumph, and the crowd roared. Karla watched with semi-fascination as his victim's corpse was dragged away. Her brothers pressed themselves against the railing as Jargon's name was announced. They were so high up that had they not declared his name she would know it was him.

She imagined the winner of the previous round smirking at Jargon. He was younger and bigger than the swordmaster. The mob became deathly silent as the gong was hit, signaling the beginning of the round. The two men studied each other for a moment; his opponent made the first move.

Unlike her father, the other man wielded a lance and was atop a horse. To Karla, this gave him a great advantage. With a quick jerk, his spear jabbed it forward, a simplistic move. Jargon calmly stepped out of the way before he began his dance. It was truly a dance, for it had its own rhythm as he stepped and twirled, his partner being the Wo Dao. Jargon sliced down the weapon. The lancer dodged it. Jargon moved again; his speed was something to be feared. He slithered behind the horse, and before the beast could turn around, Jargon leapt forward and thrust his sword into the side of his opponent.

The horse reared, and the fighter slumped forward. The hordes of people in the stands cheered, then settled again into a tense quiet as the man sat up again, one hand applying pressure to the wound while the other still clutched the spear. He attempted to plunge the lance into Jargon again, though it missed and nearly through him off his steed at the same time. He pulled on his horse's reins to try and escape, if only for a moment to catch his breath, but Jargon struck down his horse by pushing the sword into the creature's side.

With a cry, the animal fell, toppling on top of his master. Crushed and unable to reach for the white flag in his pocket, the man whimpered for his life, a cry that could be heard throughout the theater.

Terrified, Karla tore her eyes away from the scene. She looked up at Karel for support, yet what she found there was even more disturbing. His eyes danced with a passion she had never seen before. He was enchanted by the sight of the battle. His odd trance scared her. It was an expression she would never forget. She turned away from him and buried her head in Karl's side. In a rare bit of sympathy, he stroked her hair comfortingly.

Little did he know that now she considered herself hiding from Karel rather than the sight below. By the shouts of her brothers, she knew that her father had won, but she expected that. Still, she did not open her eyes.

That night, she dreamed of the faceless man again, but this time, he bore Karel's maddening eyes.

------

Author's Note: Finally, this first chapter has been finished. I've been wanting to get this out forever. Special thanks to everyone who has contributed information to help with this story, and I will be needing more help as the story goes on. I'll be asking questions in my thread "Some Background Questions" in my forum. Still, I'd love it if people reviewed. I always accept constructive crit happily.

I have several goals for this story. I always thought that though Karla may be a sucky unit, she has one of the best characters. Her story is one of the best. I want to effectively show Karel's transition from her beloved brother to the Sword Demon to the Sword Saint. I want to show Karla's transition from young, innocent girl to cold wanderer to mother and wife. I want to give depth to their family and to their story. And I want another Karla/Batre on the site, because there is only one for this canon couple. Of course, Bartre won't enter for a few chapters, and the romance will happen much later.

For my disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem.

Please review! I've worked so hard on this story.


	2. Age thirteen Part I

**Karla, Age 13- Part I**

Karla closed her eyes as firm but gentle fingers wove their way through her long strands of hair. They swiftly tugged at her locks, dividing them into three sections before plaiting them into a single braid. She cracked open one eye to see the slender hands choose a precious green ribbon before they disappeared from view in the back of her head. Once the braid was secure, it was twisted up into a single bun on of the back of her skull, tucked in by slim pins.

After this lengthy process was completed, Karla felt the hands withdraw from her head, and there was a content sigh as Shalla leaned back to admire her work. Karla relished these moments when she could be alone with her mother. Only then did it seem that Shalla's nerves weren't frayed by chores or the scolding glare of Jargon.

"Beautiful," Shalla mumbled. Karla turned to look at the woman, who offered a small and serene smile. "You are so pretty Karla, my sweet, little girl." Karla blushed.

"Thank you, Mamma," she said, truly grateful. The look in Shalla's eyes as she watched her daughter always intrigued Karla. She knew that her brothers were loved dearly by her mother, but she always was conscious that there was a special part of her heart reserved just for Karla. However, Shalla always refused to speak of it.

"Your father will be pleased," Shalla spoke, taking on a graver note. Karl was visiting, much to the chagrin to Jargon. Her eldest brother had departed their home but two years before, and she knew that one day, Karel would be gone too. One night, he'd kiss her goodnight on the cheek; the next morning, his pallet would be empty and cold. "As will Karl when he returns." Now, a bit more affection seeped into her voice.

"Why doesn't father want Karl to come home?" Karla inquired. She had been struck curious by this matter. Shalla ignored her, however. Instead, she looked off at the rough wood surface of their mealtime table.

"You know, there are some chores I still have to do," she said and hurried off to dust the table. Karla sighed. The whole reason her hair had been fixed was that they wanted her to look good when Karl returned, yet she had no idea why the occasion was so important. Surely, he had not changed that drastically since he left. He couldn't be some sort of hero or revered warrior. So, why was she dressing up? Why was Jargon pacing silently in the garden and Karel remaining tight-lipped as he sparred with Karmon—

Karmon! Karla glanced over at Shalla, checking to see if she was busy. Slyly, Karla snuck outside. She was careful not to touch her hair, and she prayed that the gentle breeze would not disrupt a single strand. Her eyes scanned the garden and then the surrounding area for Karmon.

As he was nowhere in sight of the door, Karla took a small tour around the perimeter of the house. After circling it twice, she heard the familiar grunts and groans of sword practice. Quickly— but not so quickly that she would mess up her plaited bun— she jogged over to see Karel knocking Karmon over with a slash of his blunt, wooden sword.

The smaller boy tumbled over, his own weapon knocked out of his hands. He rolled over to grasp it tightly once again and scrambled to his feet. Before he found steady footing, however, he was sent flying towards the ground once more.

At this moment, Karel noticed Karla watching them. He dropped his sword and grinned at Karla, half in triumph, half in pleasant greeting. Karmon, too, picked up on Karla's presence. Panting, he rose to his feet. The sword was planted in the ground, and he leaned on it heavily, as though it were a walking stick.

"H-hey La-la," Karmon gasped.

"Karla, has Karl arrived yet?" Karel asked. She told him that he had not, and for once, she concentrated on her younger sibling. She chided Karel lightly for pushing Karmon so hard, and only an eye roll was given in response. She pulled Karmon aside, out of Karel's acute hearing range, pretending to examine a bruise as she talked to him secretly.

"You don't know?" Karmon's mouth dropped slightly in incredulity. "Why, Karl's taken himself a wife." Karla's head snapped up to face Karmon. Karl was married? No wonder she had dressed so nicely; she was to greet her sister-in-law for the first time. Yet, it did not explain why this was kept hidden from her.

"Is this a bad thing?" she asked.

"Yep," Karl informed her. "Father doesn't think she's good blood for the family. She's not a swordfighter, you see."

"So? She doesn't need to be one. As long as she is obedient and tends to his needs, what else is required? I know we're a great bloodline, but that is passed down through the men. The woman's place in this family is to care for them." These lines were well reversed in her head, as they were what she had been taught her entire life. And she did believe in them; if Karl married a sword-fighting woman— like the kind she saw in the Coliseum— she would have thought it to be unnatural.

"You don't know?" The line was not repeated by Karmon; rather, it was Karel's deep voice that echoed the question. She spun to see that Karel had silently snuck up on them and was eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Know what?"

"Karmon, go back into the house," Karel commanded. Karmon defiantly stood up to him, but the ten-year-old was no match for his eighteen year old brother, who scooped him up by his collar and flung him towards the house. With dirt covering his face, Karmon still refused.

"Please, just go," Karla politely insisted. He only relented at the sound of Karla's voice, and he walked backwards towards their home, with his tongue stuck out towards Karel. When he had disappeared behind the shade of their home, Karla once again asked Karel what he had meant earlier.

"Mother was a swordmaster," he revealed to her. She did not know whether to take it as a joke or to truly believe him. She contemplated the facts for a moment. If Shalla had been a swordfighter, one of those burly, scarred woman who relied on no man, why then did she choose a placid life as housewife? Karla knew the life displeased her, and her father was no easy man to be married to. She could have easily defied his wishes, yet she chose— not was chosen— to stay by his side for eternity.

"Explain" was the only word she spoke after several minutes. Karel went on to tell about how Shalla had been a promising Lycian myrmidon, training first under the house of Pherae before going on to travel Elibe to hone her skills. She became famous, of a sort, and during a fierce duel in the Coliseum somewhere in Bern, she met Jargon. It was a long and arduous battle, but Jargon had come out victorious in the end. Still, he left Shalla to live. They became acquainted, and soon, they were traveling together.

"I know what you are thinking," he finished his tale. "You are thinking, why did she marry him when she obviously does not love him? I cannot tell you that because I do not know, but the fact remains that not every woman in our family is meant to serve and treat us men." He reached out to cup her face, forcing her to look up into his eyes. He was studying her; his eyes reached into her soul, evaluating every aspect of her being.

A shout from Karmon forced Karel to withdraw his hand. Apparently, two figures had been spotted a few miles off as they approached, and Jargon was sure it was his son and new daughter-in-law. Side by side, they walked to the house together.

Before they joined their family in reception of Karl and this girl, Karel leaned close to her to whisper, "Meet me out there tonight. Midnight, when everyone is sleeping." His pace suddenly improved as he was soon several steps ahead of Karla, who was still trying to interpret this invitation.

----

The cool night air caressed her face as she slipped out the front door. She closed it carefully, so that no one would hear it shut. The low hum of bugs accompanied her as she met Karel out in their designated meeting place. It was dark. Only a sliver of the moon was out tonight, and the tiny orbs that were stars only provided tiny beams of light.

Karel was waiting her. At his feet was an indistinguishable pile that barely stood out from the black. He greeted her in a low, hushed voice before starting the night by asking her for her opinion of Alice, Karl's new wife.

"She's nice," Karla answered. That was really the only impression she was given of the pale, red-headed woman. The lady spoke nary a word and spent most of her time staring at her tiny little hands.

"Same here," Karel said. He crouched down to pick up the two items at his feet. They were both long and slender, with slightly rounded anterior end and an oddly shaped handle. When he held one out for her to take, her breath caught. It was a sword, the same type her brothers used when they trained. She accepted it from his hands and held it uncertainly.

"You can't mean—"

"Oh, but I do," he said. It was almost a dare for Karla to comply. "Mother and Father were both excellent in their trade, Karl is good, Karmon is…disappointing and I am truly the best of the three. Still, I ache to see what power you hold. I can see it, Karla; you have great potential."

"No." She shoved the sword hastily back towards him, but he did not take it from her hands. "It's not my place."

"It is, Karla," he hissed. "It is your place, your heritage, your birthright." Karla still seemed unconvinced and nervous.

"No!" Her voice rose to an alarming tone, and Karel had to quiet her for fear they would wake someone within their house. "Please, Karel. I do not like this weapon. I have seen what it does, and I do not like the battles or the glory of the Coliseum." Her eyes pleaded with him.

"Karla, I will be leaving soon," he reminded her. "It is only a matter of time. Perhaps it will be a few months, maybe just a few weeks. You, Karla, were always my favorite. Not weak little Karmon or arrogant Karl but you. I want to spend this time with you, because, unlike Karl, I will not return, not even when I marry. By the time I come back to take the family sword, you will be gone as well. Let us enjoy this last bit time together, dear sister." Karla pushed herself to say no, but she found herself lacking the will. He was right. They did not have much time together, and here she was, rejecting his gift.

"Ok," she finally agreed.

That night, he taught her the basics: how to hold the sword, how to stand, how to approach an opponent in a duel. These skills were refined over the next few lessons. They met every other night in the shroud of darkness. Soon, Karla was learning how to evaluate her enemy, how to predict his next move, and how to slip behind him without notice and strike with no warning. He was pleased with her results. She proved to be agile and a rapid learner. Though she was frail and barely had any muscles hanging off her arms, her strength grew rapidly. If anything, she delayed his departure. He had a great desire to see what more she was capable of.

Karla, however, did not begin to love the sword anymore than she had at first. It was still strange and foreign to her. Even as she improved beyond Karel's greatest expectations, she saw the sword not as a weapon, not as a part of her but as a way to please and become closer to him. She knew that one day he would not be there to impress, but that never seemed to worry her. Once he was gone, she could give up this foolish practice.

One night, in the heat of summer, when even the evening burned with the leftover passion of the sun, she had wandered out to their spot. Karel was not there, and Karel was never late. She knew what this meant; he was gone for good. She slumped down onto the earth, pulling her knees close up to her body. She nestled her head into the crook of her arms, crossed over her knees.

How odd…she actually missed their training. It might have worn her down, but it somehow gave her energy for the coming day. Even if she was physically battered, she was stronger and more capable to perform more strenuous duties. Pulling out the stubborn weeds in the garden by their roots no longer seemed to hinder her; even the thorns no longer seemed to sting as sharply. They were nothing like the bruises Karel left marked upon her body. Well, at least she would not have to bother attempting to hide them any longer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she barely spotted a thin sheet of parchment held down by a stone. She removed the weight atop it and unfolded the note. It was from Karel.

_Do not give up. You have great potential. Despite what I might have said before, I know we will meet again, and next time, you will be a formidable opponent. Take care, my dear little sister. _

_K_

Karla also recognized the bulky shape of the sword. However, this was a little different. It seemed sleeker, and it glinted in a strange, almost ethereal way. Almost as soon as she ran her fingers over it, she realized it was not a wooden practice tool but a thick and stiff leather sheath. She held with both hands, cautiously.

Finally, she grasped she hilt and wrenched it out. It came out surprisingly easier than she would have believed, and she nearly dropped it. Indeed, the blade was much shorter than the practice sword, and it also weighed less, though not by much. This was a relief to Karla.

So, this was Karel's parting gift to her. Was this a dream? It presented more panic than joy. If Jargon found it in her possession, then she would be punished severely. Yet, Karel was gone now, and this was the last piece of him she had left. She could keep it…she just needed a good hiding place for it.

After much thought, the sword's new home came to rest under her thin, straw-filled mattress. She did not dare remove it from its hiding spot for several days, which eventually wore onto weeks. After a month, when there was naught a person under the roof save for Karla herself, she brought it out to admire it.

Now that it was daytime, she could see it so much more clearly. It was an iron sword, but it still gleamed like sterling as she drew it from the sheath. It was simple, but when she held it in her hand, an empowering feeling overcame her body. She handled it charily, as she still wary of its sharp edges and pointed tip.

"Karla," a solemn voice spoke behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She did not need to turn her head to properly identify the voice as belonging to her father. She returned the sword into its covering. She had been caught after being so careful; all it took was this one risk, and the consequences had come to haunt her.

"Yes Father," she responded, a tear already making its way down her cheek.

"What are you doing with that?" he asked, strolling to her side and plucking the weapon out of her hands. She did not resist nor did she answer. Jargon was not pleased with this reply, and he once again ordered her, this time with his tone louder and stricter.

"It's not mine," she lied, though her voice betrayed her as it cracked. Her face was drenched her face. She bit down on her lip hard to suppress any sobs, and the skin cracked and began to bleed.

Jargon left her in this state. She heard him barricade her door so that she would not leave. Even he hadn't, she had no where to go. She was just a stupid girl with silly notions running wild in her head. She could never be the brave wanderers her brothers were destined to be.

She eventually fell asleep on her cot. It was a restless toss at first, though as night came closer, she settled into a tranquil slumber. She was immediately jarred awake by the scrape of wood against wood outside her door. Someone was removing the barrier.

Karla stood up straighter and wiped away any tears still drying on her eyelashes. The knob turned, and she prepared herself to suffer from Jargon's hand. As a finger settled on her cheek, she flinched, but she then she recognized not the rough, calloused skin of her father but the soft touch of her mother.

"Mamma," She cried, tears bouncing up afresh. Shalla embraced her, joining in with her own sobs. They stayed together for several minutes in that position before Shalla pulled away, desiccating her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown.

"Get dressed," she told Karla. "Good, sturdy clothes, comfortable too." Karla complied. As soon as her boots were pulled on and her shirt laced, Shalla was waiting for her. In her hands, she held a small pack; this satchel was thrust into Karla's arms. The young teenager slung it across her back as everything slowly began making sense. Shalla left for a moment before returning with Karel's gift in her hands. She helped Karla attach it to her belt.

"You'll be just like your brothers, just younger and less prepared," She choked. The pair walked outside, where the season was just coming to the point where the night was cool again. Shalla placed her hands on Karla's shoulders, and she turned her in the direction of the rising moon. "Keep going forward, and you'll eventually stumble upon a village. Gather your bearings there; there's money in your bag. Then go south to Lycia."

"Lycia?" It was a far and distant land to Karla. She had never dreamed of stepping foot there, and the truth was that she was scared of venturing to this new land, alone nonetheless.

"I know what you and Karel did late at night," Shalla confessed. "You have talent; even for one as young as you are, show them what you know and one of the territories will surely take you into their guard. Who knows, you might even rise to be a dame."

"Mamma, why are you doing this?" Karla sniffled. She would rather face her father then to be suddenly forced upon the cold land, alone and confused. She barely knew left from right on the plains; how would she survive, so young and so vulnerable, with thieves and bad men roaming alongside her?

"I used to love him, when I first met him." Shalla was referring to Jargon as she spoke this. "But the sword robbed him of his soul, and he is no longer what I loved. I see those same qualities in my sons now; their natures are freezing so much faster than their father's. It is the destiny of this family, not just the men. You are meant for greater and better things, Karla. You must not let that happen to you." With a final hug, Karla was pushed off. Her feet stumbled as fear and anxiety ran up her throat and constricted her lungs.

Each step was more uncertain than the last. Her body convulsed with whimpers, but she stayed composed for the sake of her mother. She had to be strong for Shalla; she had to at least appear brave so that Shalla might find courage in letting her dearest child go.

With every step, Karla staggered towards a hazy future.

----

Author's Note: That was definitely the longest chapter I have ever written. And I'm pretty proud of it too. Please review!


	3. Age Thirteen Part II

**Karla Age Thirteen Part II**

With every stumbling step, Karla's hopes fluttered and feet pulsed under their soles. She had walked from midnight to morn to blood-hued sunset to the deep trenches of evening, which met her once more. The night wrapped around her, enshrouding her in a cloak of cool air and darkness.

Her body was about to give in on her. Throughout her trek, she had barely paused to take a swig from the wooden flask that Shalla had packed in her sack. The water always tasted stale and warm, but it was the only relief she dared to take for fear that she would lose sight of her invisible path and never reach that town. Yet, even with her precautions, no cluster of buildings protruded over the horizon. Her hope waned.

When the moon had reached its highest arch in the sky, Karla finally let her bag slip off her shoulders and crash to the ground. She wearily joined it. Her thoughts were reflected on nothing more than sleep, but her stomach had other ideas, as it protested with a sharp pang.

Karla blindly rummaged through the contents of her bag, feeling for the hard lump of bread wrapped in a cotton kerchief. She withdrew and unwrapped the food. She pulled off a small piece of the tough crust. It was greedily thrust into her mouth and swallowed without chewing. Karla then dug out a tiny portion of the softer, brown insides. After this, the bread was put away. Her rations were in short supply, and it was necessary that she save every bite possible.

As she reached for her flask, Karla wished that she had considered that with her water. Only a few, sparse drops met with her tongue as she tipped the bottom. With a sigh, she replaced it into her pack and shifted the bag so that it made a clumpy but suitable pillow. Her legs were drawn up close to her chest, and she threw her arms around her torso, not only to preserve what little warmth she had left radiating throughout her body but also to console herself. She would not- could not- cry, but the tears still stung her eyes.

Under her closed eyelids, a solitary droplet ran down the gentle slope of her cheek. Others hung to her lashes, but she was determined that they would not escape. Still, she lost this battle, as more broke free of their prison and cascaded down her face.

Fine, she was crying, but no matter what, Karla would not break out into sobs. She sniffled a little, biting her lip to prevent any wails from leaving her lips. Her teeth gripped her bottom lip deeper and deeper as this became too hard a burden to handle, and soon, the taste of blood entered her mouth. After this, she gasped for her mother, her old life, some sort of sanctity in all of this.

Soon, sleep washed over her, offering relief for the time being. So much for being strong.

----

Her eyes peeked open; they encountered not the harsh rays of the sun but soft, dim candlelight. Her back arched, suddenly realizing that the rigid ground had been replaced with a smooth, feathery mattress. Her hands groped for her pack, but they only stroked a worn, cotton pillow. And as all of these events took place, Karla's heart began to thud.

She had been kidnapped. That was the only reasonable theory for it all. She had been a bad girl, and so bad men had come to take her away and force her to do bad things. Who those bad men or bad things were, she was not sure, but the childhood warning remained planted in her head.

Karla threw the sheets aside. When her bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor, a shudder passed throughout her body. She attempted to stand, but her knees trembled and collapsed under her, forcing her back on the edge of the bed.

"Peace child," a quiet but stern voice spoke. She snapped her head to the left to see an elderly man, clothed in white robes, enter the room. He was tall and wiry, with his clothes hanging loosely off his knobby bones. His papery skin was stretched tautly over his skeleton. He did not appear threatening, though. "You'll wake the others."

Karla peered around the room, and she realized that it was bigger than she had first believed it to be. Many pallets, similar to hers, lined the wall. Most of them laid empty; only a few were occupied.

"Where am I?" she questioned the man.

"You are at the Cashman Mission," he informed her. "A good Samaritan found you out on the plains and brought you here. You were dehydrated, but you seem well now, thanks to our efforts."

"Mission?" She had never heard the term before. The man nodded, and then he became aware of the fact that she was unfamiliar with it. Slight incredulity entered his eyes as they widened.

"Why, child, this is a house of blessed Saint Elimine," he told her. Ah, Elimine. She had been taught the vague basics of the religion, though her family celebrated Mother Earth and Father Sky much more.

"You are a priest?" she asked. He nodded.

"You may call me Father Callar, dear child," he introduced himself. "And what name may I call you?" She trusted him; if he was a servant of Elimine, he would not hurt her. That much she knew.

"Karla," she told him.

"Karla, the name means warrior," he noted. Her name had a meaning? That was strange. Perhaps it spoke of her family. They were all warriors, even though she surely was not one. "You are a warrior, in the sense you are fighter to come this far, alone, and fought to live after your collapse. And because of that, you have been found by the graces of Elimine."

"Sorry but I do not believe much in Elimine," Karla confessed. Father Callar's brow furrowed even deeper. He could not grasp that such a faithless girl had come into his possession.

"Then truly, it must mean of the sword you carried," he said. The compassion that was once in his voice had disappeared, replaced by a bitter tone. "Where is your family, girl. You seem far too young to be wandering this land by yourself."

"I am not welcome in my family anyone," she admitted. Her eyes became downcast.

"Because you do not believe?" he prodded. She shook her head, the tears taunting her once more.

"Because I am a girl, and I have done what no girl should ever do." Her voice cracked as she spoke. Oh, how she wished she could back time and change everything that she had done wrong. She would have refused Karel and completed her life as an obedient daughter, instead of the wild misfit she had grown to be.

"And what was that?" She stared up at him, confused as to why he was prying. Did he wish to scorn her more and expose her as a wench? Noting this, he quickly added, "The first step to forgiveness is confession of your sin. You will find faith within these walls, and I will guide you there. But first, what is it that cast you out from your family."

"The sword," she whispered after a moment.

"Did you kill someone?" She shook her head no. "Did you hurt someone?" Another shake. "Threaten someone?" The response was identical. "Then, pray tell, what deed did you commit?"

"I trained with it," she told him.

"But I have seen many young women pass through who train as you have," he told her, as though it might comfort her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "But they aren't real women. They have lost all femininity with their trade." She instantly withdrew back into a somber silence after saying this. Even after the circumstances had changed, she still believed that. She felt ashamed of betraying her gender, even after learning that her own mother had been one of them.

"I don't like it," she continued. "Not just because of that. I don't like hurting. I don't like killing. I don't want to become like that." Two hands cupped her face, and Father Callar brought her head up to look him in the eye.

"You may stay with us, young Karla, as long as you may wish," he said. "You are a lost soul, and we have found you. As for work, we need an extra hand around the place. We cannot pay, but we can offer a haven in the mist of this dangerous land." Stay here? It was tempting, but she had already stated that she was not a believer. Still, it would mean she was free of the inhospitable world outside.

"But I—" Karla tried to protest, but Father Callar cut her off and finished the sentence for her.

"Am always welcome." Before her mouth could open to speak again, he waved her off with a flick of his hand. "No more discussion for now. Regain your strength, Miss Karla. This is your home now." Karla settled back against the cot with uncertainty. She closed her eyes, desperate for a few more hours of sleep, but she was still dubious about her new occupation.

---

As soon as she was capable of walking again, Father Callar put her to work. The mission was small, and what few treasures it held were worn and tarnished. The Father shuffled her off to the mercy of the three clerics residing there. They were all ancient creatures. The oldest was Sister Georgiana, who was lame in one leg and blind in one eye.

Sister Georgiana, in turn, passed Karla over to the sole servant of the mission, Droll. His name was appropriate. He was a funny little man, with slurred speech and a back hunched over. The few tasks he could perform around the mission, he did exceedingly well. He cooked and dusted, though he was not trusted around any of the breakables or silver. So, that was to be one of Karla's many odd jobs.

Sister Willis, a docile young dove compared to the rest of the church workers, showed Karla how to delicately polish the silver, though the precious metal was so blemished already, her chores seemed to be useless. Karla was also in charge of washing the windows. Grime crowded in the corner of the panes, and she had to dig her washing rag into the angles to pick away at the dirt.

On Tuesdays, she assisted Sister Jinny with the laundry. The holy white robes were scrubbed as though they were fragile vases, but it was not as though there was a speck of dirt on the cloth. The Father and Sisters kept their robes immaculately clean. Only Droll's tunic was terribly stained, and only now and then did Karla's new sorrel colored uniform become splotched.

Thus began Karla's new life. Though her chores were often grueling, requiring her to spend longs hours out in the brutal Sacaen sun, but they gave her structure in her life, a kind of organization she had not seen since before Karel started training her. She relished that balance. The day had a schedule to it, and though it was long and mundane, it offered serenity. It was an ascetic lifestyle, full of deprivations, and yet, it submitted more security than Karla ever had in her life. Outside that little wrought-iron gate that ran around the perimeter of the Mission, there was an unforgiving world, one Karla was not anxious to be apart of.

For a time, Karla even forgot where she came from. It was for the best. No longer did she have to check over her shoulder for Jargon or fret over a single mistake for fear of retribution. At first, she found the Sisters dull and strict, though over time, she adjusted to their austere attitudes. They represented the womanliness that Karla had so strived for her whole life, and though Karla knew that she did not qualify for becoming a cleric, such as them, she would be content staying by their sides for her entire life.

This, however, did not solve the issue over the sword. Bandits were common in the area, and it was Father Callar's wish that they had some sort of protection. The thieves that roamed the region were known to be heathens, and they would not hesitate to raid the Mission. Since the Church of Elimine only gave so much money every year, their budget was not nearly large enough to pay for a mercenary to guard them. Father Callar, instead, asked Karla to continue her practice of the sword.

At first, Karla was tentative, but she knew that if she wanted to continue her tranquil life at the Mission, then she would have no choice but to endure the craft that had caused her so much pain in the first place. It was ironic in a way.

The few skills that Karla was sure of were polished continuously. Without a human partner to spar with though, her practices lagged. There was only so much she could learn from the wooden post outside the garden. Soon, though, a gift was given upon her.

Karla had awoken at dawn, as usual, to join the others in the Morning Prayer. Five months had passed since her arrival, and since then, the agenda had been memorized. Every morning, as the sun rose, she would dress and hurry from the main building, where the Visitor's ward and kitchen were, to the tiny wooden chapel. Inside the chapel, a few rows of pews were lined up in front of the tiny altar. Father Callar stood behind the table, with the Sisters sitting off to the side. Karla, like always, took her seat in the front pew next to Droll. Sometimes, a visitor to the Mission would wander in, but usually, only the six of them attended.

"Blessed Saint Elimine," Father Callar began that one morning, with his arms raised to the heavens. Karla bowed her head and gripped Droll's pudgy hand as the prayer commenced. "We thank thee for this day and ask of thee for nothing but thy blessings. Send down upon us sinners the-"

The chapel door burst open with a loud cry, "Sanctuary!" The shout rang with pain and suffering. Karla let go of Droll's hand and turned to see a tall man stoop over before crumpling to the ground with a thud. Father Callar rushed from his dais to aid the man, and Karla followed him with the Sisters in tow.

The man was still conscious, and he moaned in agony. One hand clutched the elbow of the opposite arm. A gash ran across from his right ear to his temple, and blood gushed from the wound.

"Droll," Father Callar signaled to the brutish servant. "Take him into the infirmary." As the Mission was very small in size, the Visitor's Ward had a small section marked off with a bed sheet to indicate the infirmary. Droll sluggishly ambled forward and took the man in his arms so that he could be safely transported to that one place. Karla could not help but gaze down at the puddle of blood that now stained the wooden planks of the chapel floor. Sister Willis seemed to read her thoughts as she placed her hand on Karla's shoulder and said,

"Clean it up, best you can. This is a holy place; we can't have blood marring the floor, can we?" Karla shook her head, and she dismissed herself to fetch the mop and pail. After her efforts with mop only turned the grungy water into a light pink tone, she emptied the bucket out and returned with a scrub to tackle the gore that had seeped deep into the cracks.

Karla was left with a dark discoloration on the ground, but it was impossible to tell if it was blood or not; so, it was have to do. She put back her utensils and hurried to the infirmary to check up on their sudden caller.

Sister Willis and Sister Jinny were waiting outside the room, with pale faces and fingers entwined. As Karla passed unnoticed, she heard them murmuring prayers hurriedly. Inside the infirmary, Sister Georgiana waited as Father Callar bent over the man, his staff in hand. The jewel at the top of the stave illuminated into a light blue glow, and it hovered over the wounds of the man.

The stab in his arm closed up slowly, and the blood clotted, preventing anymore from leaking. Next, the laceration on his forehead was concentrated on. His groan ceased as his torment was reduced to a gentle stinging. After several minutes of focused healing, Father Callar stepped away and wiped his brow.

"He should live," he said rather stoically. "Let him rest for now." His eyes wandered over to notice Karla standing by the door. "Miss Karla, watch over him. The Sisters and I will send our prayers for him at the chapel. You know to call if there is an emergency." Karla bobbed her head as a sign of respect, as well to show her understanding.

Georgiana handed her a cumbersome, leather-bound volume with a piece of lead sitting on top of it. "Should he awake, you take down his information, understood?" Karla accepted the record book as a sign of her comprehension. She then pulled a chair next to the man's bed and watched him.

The dark hair crowning his head was still matted and sticky from blood. Karla gently brushed it away from his healed injury, which would likely turn into a scar. His skin was pasty, though that was probably a result of his assault. She wondered just what happened to him that would not only put him in this condition but cause him to call for sanctuary. As far as she saw, there were no suspicious men lurking around the chapel.

For an hour, Karla remained by his bedside patiently. She observed for a time, but her thoughts soon turned as she surveyed the room. His possessions were propped against the wall. It seemed he had been robbed, as his bag flopped over with nothing inside. It was the sword that caught her eye, an impressive longsword in a gleaming black hilt. So, he wasn't unarmed; he certainly fought back against his attackers.

A low rumble of a groan brought back Karla's attention to the man lying on the cot. He shifted slightly in his fitful sleep, and for a brief moment, his eyes flickered open, revealing dark pools of blue for eyes, before lapsing back into slumber. Karla sighed and leaned back against her chair. Truth be told, she was beginning to become bored. Her fingers amused themselves with a strand of hair, while her eyes drifted up towards the thatched roof.

"Who are you," his gargled voice nearly made Karla jump out of her chair. She leaned closer to him.

"My name is Karla," she informed him.

"Where…am I?" His bad arm twitched as he suppressed another whimper.

"The Cashman Mission." She reached for the record book. The pages were flipped to the next spot where he could be chronicled. Already, a dozen names ran down the page. Karla scribbled down the date. "What is your name, sir?"

"Lael," he murmured after a second. She jotted down his answer in her lopsided handwriting.

"How old are you, sir?"

"Eighteen this harvest."

"Where are you from, sir- Lael?" There was a cautious pause.

"Why do you need to know?" he questioned bitterly.

"For the records," she explained, slightly confused by this sudden turn of acrimony.

"Etruria…no more than that." After that was recorded, she set the book aside and asked him if he needed anything. His reply sounded just as hostile as before. "I'm not a believer. You saved my life, now go away." Karla was stunned by his rudeness. Most the folk that passed through the gates of the Mission were polite and grateful for the aid that the Father provided. He was full of resentment and nothing more.

"S-sorry," she apologized. She backed away, ready to summon one of the Sisters to take care of his curt manner, but as she turned to leave, she saw Sister Georgiana glaring starkly at him with her one seeing eye.

"How dare you walk into our halls, crying sanctuary to the dear Lady, and then you declare you have no faith and wish us to begone, when we saved your life so mercifully," she chided him indignantly.

"So, what are you going to do, throw me out in my weakened state?" Lael drawled. He had a good point; the Church of Elimine never denied anyone. If a soul had strayed from Elimine, then they would try to retrieve it, as they had done with Karla. Lael would remain here, yet, to his chagrin, he would have to endure the prayers and chants that came with the treatment.

Sister Georgiana huffily stalked off. She left Karla there, alone with Lael, who had decided to at least take advantage of Karla's offer.

"Get me some water," he demanded croakily. Karla hurried off and returned with a tin cup of lukewarm water. He drank it down greedily and then demanded more. Karla fulfilled his request again, and this time, when he finished, he threw the cup down on the floor, like a young child in a tantrum.

"Sir," she began, "you are a swordfighter, are you not?"

"What's it to you?" Karla took a deep breath before continuing.

"Well, you see, sir, I'm suppose to protect the mission, and I was…um, wondering if when you are fully healed if you could stay awhile and teach me." The last part came out as a rushed squeak. He rolled his head over to look at Karla.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked broodily.

"No, no," she insisted. "I know some of the art, but I'm not good yet." She waited anxiously for his acceptance, if he would even give her that.

"Swordplay is not an art; it is life and must be treated as such," he corrected her. "Life which you hold in your hand. Your life is in your sword; the lives of others will be impaled on it. A girl like yourself shouldn't bother with such things."

"But sir," Karla tried to explain, "it's part of my bargain to stay here. I mean, I'm not much of a believer either."

"Then why would you want to?"

"Because I have no other place to go, and I like it here," she confessed. "I rather lead the life of a believer than be put out alone with no one to turn to." Her words struck a cord within Lael, as he suddenly agreed to help her.

"But," he warned her, "you can tell that priestess that I ain't going to be joining any of your prayer circles."

Lael was up and moving freely by the next morning. True to his word, he began instructing Karla that afternoon, though his injuries still ached. Karla was able to persuade Father Callar to allow Lael to remain in the Mission. The Sisters retained their distance from the resentful young male, and Droll followed their example, as he always followed them like a sick puppy. So, it was up to Karla to attend to him, and she did so religiously. She needed to be on his good side; he was to be her teacher for the next several weeks.

"You got grace, I'll give you that," Lael complimented her upon their first lesson. "But that won't get you no where. You need to be relentless, cruel out there in the battlefield. Mercy is not a virtue. If that's going to interfere with your swordplay, then don't think of them as humans with souls. No one matters but you."

Karla nodded. Since they had no proper weapons to practice with, and it was far too risky to use their real blades, Lael had found two switches that were appropriate for their exercises. Unlike Karel, who showed her an almost sophisticated way of fighting, Lael was faithful to his interpretation of the sword. Within the first few strikes, he had landed a kick in her gut that sent her falling over.

"There are no rules in the game," he instructed her. His eyes bore down on her, causing her to advert her stare on him and blush slightly. "Your sword is not your only weapon. Honor means nothing; attack with everything you have in you. But don't be reckless; use the form you already know and combine it with a fierce assault."

With her branch firmly in hand, she ran up towards Lael and attempted a diagonal slash across his chest. He blocked it and countered, jabbing his own mock weapon towards Karla. She slinked out of the way of his blow and caught a weak spot below his right shoulder. She had forgotten completely that was his injured arm and that it was still sensitive.

When she hit him, he gasped out in sudden anguish and fell to his knees. Karla suddenly remembered his wound and knelt by his side to check if he was alright. Lael took advantage of the situation; with a groan, he knocked her over with a swipe of his stick.

"Never care about your opponent, not even in practice," he chastised her. "Never let your guard down until you are sure you have won." Karla meekly nodded. "Now get up; it's about time you learn some defense maneuvers.

Karla was only familiar with the basic block and guard. She could evade well, but as Lael reminded her, that would not always save her. He showed her how to parry a blow, and she was guided through the most useful ways of deflecting a wallop. Gradually, her strength increased, and soon, she was able to counter Lael's hits. Over the span of their lessons together, which lasted about five weeks, he became continuously impressed with the speed at which Karla picked up her skills.

Karla, meanwhile, became quite enamored with the handsome vagabond herself. Though often brusque, she found his tart behavior all the more intriguing. Of course, the relationship was purely platonic on his side, as he rarely spoke to Karla outside of their daily practices, even when she brought him his meals. His thoughts were concentrated on when he would be free of the Mission and once the costless boarding was no longer available, where his trails would lead him next.

"Out of curiosity," he asked once day, "who first taught you?" Karla dusted off her skirt as they returned to their respective rooms within the Mission. Lael had to stay in the visitor's ward while Karla shared with Droll.

"My brother, Karel," she said with a slight pant. Lael looked away, but Karla noticed his eyes widened a tiny bit in recognition. She excitedly pressed on. "You know him?"

"I…have had the honor of traveling with him for a week," he said, choosing his words carefully. "We dueled at the end; he won. He is a man of amazing talent. I should have realized you were related. There is not only a physical comparison but one found in your swordplay as well."

"Where is he now?" Karla asked. All exhaustion which had graced her before disappeared in a moment's notice, as soon as she realized that Lael knew Karel.

"That was several months ago," Lael pushed it off. "I have not seen him since. I'm just counting my blessings I escaped alive." His voice picked that ever so familiar acrid timbre. "I never knew he had a younger sister, and I would never have guessed she would have found work in a church Mission."

"Oh, well that was unexpected, yes," Karla said. Lael's pace suddenly accelerated. Karla could not keep up with his long strides; something she had said obviously had bothered him.

"Lael," she called out. "Lael, wait, I'm sorry." Though her repeated attempts to apologize certainly reached his ears, he ignored her cries. When he reached his bedside, he turned to face Karla, who had followed him into the ward.

Karla stepped back. His cheeks burned with a fiery red passion, and his eyes bulged with ire. Even that scar by his temple now throbbed with a white heat. He no longer appeared dashing but ungainly.

"I stayed because I was interested in you as a student," he said through clenched teeth. "But I can no longer teach you."

"Because of Karel?" Karla guessed.

"I'd be too afraid," he grumbled. "You'd turn out like him."

"What's wrong with Karel?" Karla wondered aloud. Any admiration for this man turned to dust as he openly insulted her kin like that.

"You know what's wrong; he's your brother," Lael exploded. "One minute, he's friendly and sociable, the next—" He let it hang as he threw up his hands in defeat. "Damn, I must leave this place before you too come to haunt my steps."

"What did he do to you?" Karla asked, almost fearing the answer. Karel would never do anything too bad. Perhaps he simply damaged Lael's pride; really, what worse things could Karel be capable of?

"Three days," Lael spoke. "Give me three days to prepare, and I will be gone of this place forever. His face eased, and he leaned back against the cot. "Three days." He seemed so sure of it; he was waiting for his liberation. Shaking, Karla left the room and headed for her own.

Three days…and once more, she would be on her own, free of a mentor she admired so much.

---

The night of the second day came. It had even passed into the earliest hours of the morning before the trouble began. Someone grabbed Karla's arm in her sleep, and she was instantly jarred awake. Sister Willis was shaking her and urging her in a hushed voice.

"B-b-bandits," she quivered. "M-monstrous pagans, who have come to feed off our flesh." Even in the dim room, Karla could see her face had faded to a pallid shade. Karla comforted the ailing woman, and she reached for her sword.

The faint trembles of commotion reached her ears. She did not bother to slip on a robe; she was needed immediately. Sister Willis remained behind with the still slumbering Droll as Karla removed her sword from its covering and tiptoed over to the chapel, where there was a mighty tumult.

Even in her somnolent state, Karla became aware of a shadow to the left of her. Her heart began to thud as she realized this would be her first real fight, the only real occasion she had so far to use the iron sword bestowed upon her by Karel. She approached the lingering shadow, her sword raised.

Out of the gloom, a hand darted out and wrapped around her wrist. Before Karla could release a shriek, another pushed itself against her lips. Lael stepped forward and released her.

"It's just me," he hissed. "Killing me will do you no good." Karla apologized, then remembered to be silent and closed her mouth. Together they snuck towards the chapel. Inside one of the now gleaming windows, Karla saw Sisters Georgiana and Jinny hovering in a corner while Father Callar tried to reason with the bandits. She knew he would refuse to relinquish what little silver he possessed for the Church, and in his hands, he bore a tome with the symbol of Elimine inscribed on the hard cover.

"Follow my lead," Lael whispered. Instead of barging in, he casually shoved the door open, with his sword raised up. Karla bumbled in after him, appearing not nearly as collected nor impressive as him.

There were five rouges in all, representing every size and shape. An oaf, with an axe in hand, curled his lips up into a grotesque smile upon seeing Karla.

"She purty," he growled. Another, a lanky fellow also wielding a billhook- one suited more for chopping wood than cutting enemies- sighed.

"This all you got, Pappa?" he said, almost disappointedly, to Father Callar. "We was expectin' an Elimine Parade, but you ain't got none but some purty boy and a twit of a girl, though Sal's right. She is purty." A muscled arm wound itself around her waist, and as hard as she tried to appear brave, she could not help but let out a scream. Father Callar's breath caught, and the two Sisters clung to each other even tighter. Lael, though, seemed unaffected by her capture.

"I'll give you 'til ten to leave," Lael warned them lazily. They all chuckled. "One…" he began to count. No one made a move. "Two…" With a resounding chortle, an axeman approached him haughtily. In a single fluid motion, Lael lunged forward and plunged his sword into the thief's shoulder. The opposing weapon clattered to the ground as the outlaw clutched his shoulder in pain.

"Three…" he challenged them. As soon as they saw their comrade, whimpering in pain, their attention snapped from Father Callar to Lael. Sal trampled over and swung his ax clumsily down. Lael evaded the blow and sliced his blade towards the giant, who in turn dodged the blow. The lanky man rushed to tackle Lael from behind, while an ally exchanged blows with Lael. He was struggling by himself, while the three men cornered him. The fourth stumbled to his feet and had no choice but to run, as he was incapable of wielding his weapon any longer.

"Four…"

Karla flailed her arms and legs wildly in effort to release herself from her captors hold. He leaned his face closer, and she could smell the ale off his breath. A shudder overcame her as his bristly beard scratched her face when his lips brushed over her cheek.

"Five…"

"Relax, sweetheart," he taunted in a slurred voice. "We get you out of here. Then you be all mine." Karla thrashed even harder, but his arm tightened, restricting her respiration and forcing her to ease her struggles.

"Six…"

The scream of Father Callar barely reached her ears before a blinding radiance burst into the room. She could not comprehend what he had said, but obviously, it had invited the luminosity into the chapel. As shock swept over the bandits, the grip on her was relieved, and she scrambled away.

"Seven…" his voice was stilly cocky but worn as well.

When the light faded, Karla blinked away the little specks dotting her vision. She picked up her sword once more. Sal was rolling on the floor, howling and clawing at his face in pain. Lael took advantage of this moment, and he dove his tip into the arm of one of the bandits, who was still disoriented from the magic attack.

"Eight…." he rasped.

In these moments, it is important to understand just how panicked Karla felt. She had lost control of her body and mind; only her instinct now ruled her actions. Her heart pumped so uncontrollably that she felt it would burst free of her ribcage. The current of her veins rushed at their own rapid pace, and she could scarcely force oxygen down into her lungs to calm her overwhelming nerves. Her legs were juddering, and her teeth clacked. She was clueless as to how she was supposed to act, and there was no notion of any appropriate action in her mind. It would take a miracle for her to survive this.

"Nine…" Lael gasped.

But there was no miracle. In fact, it was the very opposite. Lael was cornered; there were too many of him, and they were far too agile to be marked by the constant swings of his longsword. And Karla was doing nothing to stop it. Her own captor had abandoned her, and she did not even try to stop him as he surprised Lael by forcing his jagged sword edge through Lael's gut.

"Ten…"

Lael fell to his knees, and the lanky man jabbed him once more through the arm, reawakening his wound. The third and final remaining bandit joined in with a final stab through the heart, and Lael was gone.

She could not see. She could not breathe. She was not aware of anything but the way her sword savagely cut towards them. Her strikes were crude; most of what she had been taught slipped from her memory. She moved by her intuition.

At first, Karla missed, and their vulgar taunts rang in her ears. It was all a blur, but she no longer tripped over her own feet. She possessed a strength that she had never before realized. Suddenly, she understood that all those times in practice with Karel and Lael she had held back. Now, this was pure, unrestrained power, something she could not control as it overtook her body.

It terrified her, but she could not stop. Not until there was a loud cry that rang through the chapel as the bells would on a more peaceful day. Her blurred vision seemed to focus so that she could see the blood staining the tip of her sword. They had grown careless, and she had struck one of them down.

Father Callar released another one of his spells, and Karla recognized what his incantation was in time to shut her eyes and block it out.

Without warning, there was just one bewildered crook left, who turned and fled as his companion fell.

And the blood still dripped off the tip of her sword. It clashed to the floor, where it ran the river of mixed blood and was absorbed into the planks forever. The Sisters' wails grew louder; Father Callar sighed a breath of relief.

And Karla looked down at the man she had killed and sobbed. She knelt down to the ground, letting her nightgown sop up all the blood split that night. She had killed a man, taken his precious life from him. It was not by skill or strategy but by her rash outburst.

"No, no," she pleaded it not to be true. She used her hand to pull herself up, but then her hand covered itself in blood. She stared down at her red palm.. "I can't stay here."

"Child, a tragedy has come upon us this night, but you have only done what Elimine has sent you to do," Father Callar said. How could he be so calm? Didn't he understand? This place would forever haunt Karla. The floor was now tinted in a color that Karla helped bring upon.

"No," she bawled. She fled from the chapel and into the wilderness. Once again, the night claimed her as its own. She fought against it, struggling for that path she so desperately needed.

She needed a place to go, someone to follow, someone to trust, someone to watch over her.

If it killed her, Karla would find Karel.

------------

Author's Note: Holy crap. 6,504 words. Dang, I hope that didn't drag on or anything. Long chapter but very important to the story. And before you start preaching me on the horrors of plotholes and Lael, I promise you it has a purpose. However, these will be the last major OCs introduced for a loooong time. Karla just couldn't be magically wonderful with her skills; she needed a new teacher. Hence Lael. It also caused more heartbreak for Karla. Hopefully, I did something completely new when I set Karla in a Mission. Anyways, I'll stop rambling and just ask you dear readers to review!

Also, I'd like to advertise something in my forum. It's called the Circle of Reviewyness. If you are looking for people to review and leave some constructive comments on your stories, check out the topic. : )


	4. Age Seventeen Part I

**Karla, Age Seventeen, Part I**

The wind whipped savagely around Karla, trapping her in a whirl of rain. She shivered, shuddering each time the sharp gale intensified. With a small groan of discomfort, she pulled her evergreen cloak tighter around her lithe body, as if the sopping wet garment would provide any barrier against the storm. It only offered meager defense.

Karla pushed through the rain, making her way towards the inn of Belroin, a mid-sized town in central Etruria. She was nearly blinded by the downpour, and the only thing that led her through the dark streets was the glow of the candles in windowsills, protected by thick panes of glass. Of course, there were also flashes of lighting every few seconds that illuminated the path briefly with a sharp burst of white light.

She had never expected the storm to become so bad, but Karla was glad that she had chosen to keep traveling. She had enough experience, now, to know that it was dangerous to wander alone in the countryside during a storm. Soon enough, she would be safe inside the inn, and hopefully, sleep would come easily. Then, the next morning, if the clouds let up, she could continue on to Paltryton, where there was an arena of some fame.

The inn's sign swung wildly in the wind, and it took another coruscation of light for Karla to identify it. She eagerly shoved through the door, sighing in relief as the barrage of wind suddenly ceased. She kicked the door closed with her foot, and to her relief, the innkeeper was still on duty. He looked up with droopy-eyes as Karla strutted in.

"For the night?" he questioned dully, scribbling something down in his account book. Karla nodded. "Pay in advance." After inquiring about the cost, Karla placed two coins on his desk and took a key. The innkeeper jerked his head up to the steps.

After Karla ascended the stairs and found her room, a small closet with a pallet, she undressed from her wet garb and tried to find something dry. The best she could do was a slightly damp brown dress that reached mid-calf. It was not a particularly flattering outfit, but at least, it was warmer than what other few clothes she owned.

With her cloak hung up a loose nail to dry, Karla tried to settle back against the cot and sleep, but after a few moments, she found that she suddenly was not as tired as she believed herself to be. Thinking to herself, she realized it was not _that _late at night; in fact, the inn's pub was still occupied by a few nocturnal souls. Perhaps she would join them. Sure, she was not fond of drunken journeymen, but they often knew the most about the circuit of warriors. Perhaps— and this was a far off thought as she had heard barely any of it in the past four years— they knew of Karel.

Karla slipped on her boots again and found that they were filled with water. She opted to walk down barefoot. These days, femininity often escaped her, and she no longer tried so hard to achieve it. She yielded to the fact that she would never be that way again, even if it still tugged at her heart.

Feeling the rough wood under her soles, she walked casually down the stairs and into the bar. None of the men paid her any heed; the influence of ale over them was probably too great at this moment for them to care about an extra stranger. Karla slipped into a stool just a few seats away from the small crowd of men, all in their thirties, unshaven, and unkempt.

"Yuhp," one boozed man slurred. " 'eard he's a new one; barely earned 'is stripes 'fore he was famous. D'feated 'alf the men, twice his age." Two shaky fingers were held up. There was grunt of incredulity from one of his companions.

"Nonsense," he hiccupped. "You jus' makin' that up like you make up all you's stories."

"Nuh-uh," the first man shouted in his defense. "Tis true, I tells you. He's like some sorta beast with the sword; ain't seen nothin' like it. He ain't to powerful to look at; fact, you ain't even think he could hold a sword. But its like a dance." The last words made Karla's heart speed up, but she continued to disguise her intentions as she nonchalantly swung her bare legs. Whenever someone admired her own skill, a "dance" was one comment they always made. It was derived from the very techniques Karel had taught her; if anything, they could possibly be talking about him.

"A dahnce?" a third man exclaimed. "I thought we was talking 'bout a fighter."

"We was talking 'bout a fighter," the second man scolded him, with a slap over the head.

"Would this fighter happen to be of Sacaen descent?" Karla asked. The three men turned towards her.

"Why you wanna know?" the first man asked. "You jus' a purty girl. Hey, purty girl, you wanna have a good time." He grinned at her, in his intoxicated version of a suggestive smirk. She ignored him, keeping a straight and cool face.

"I'm curious," was her reply.

"Suhre," the third man said. "Like you care. We was talkin' 'bout fighter-stuff. Purty ladies don' like fighter-stuff."

"You'd be surprised." Whether it was something in Karla's cold voice or the challenge she presented to him in her eyes, the third man stepped back warily. The other two seemed undaunted, however. "Fine, then, if being a 'purty lady' seems to be the problem, perhaps I can amend that." She slid off her barstool and jauntily went back to her room.

Once she was back behind her closed door, she sought out a dagger in her belongings. She unsheathed it, gathered her hair in one hand and held the blade up to the locks. She bit her lip, not wanting to have to go through with this, but she knew that if she wanted to get any information out of those men, she would have to make her self undesirable.

Closing her eyes, she tore through the stands. The dagger continued to cut away at her hair until it reached a fairly even—though still jagged in many parts— length at her chin. The cut strands now were fallen to the ground, collected into one heap. She pushed them aside with her foot, so that she would not have to look at her beautiful hair strewn on the floorboards, and rummaged through her bag for something that would replace her skirt—some sort of trousers perhaps. She found nothing.

With a sigh, she moved back into the hall. Earlier, a pair of breeches and a loose shirt hanging in the hallway of the inn had caught her eye. They were probably set out for the laundress to wash when she came around in the morning. Though Karla would usually never steal something, she decided to forgo that one virtue just this once. She was certain that these tidings would lead her to her brother.

The clothing was torn off their hangers and snuck back into Karla's room. She hurriedly changed into them, for fear the men downstairs would leave or pass out before she could get to them. With her hand clutching the pants so that they would not slip off her and the sleeves rolled up on the shirt so that they would not interfere with her hands, she reentered the pub.

Upon seeing her, the three boozehounds laughed.

"Fine, gal, if you want to 'ear it bad nuff, then we tell it," the second man rumbled. He nudged the first man, who begun to relay the tale once more.

"Is he of Sacaen descent?" Karla asked him again before he divulged too deeply into his story.

"Looks like it," he responded. "Can't be more than ei'teen at best." Karla's hopes fluttered, but she continued to listen. "Saw him 'bout a month ago. 'ats where I'd 'eard of 'is other battles. But I ain't seen him till then. 'Mazing, no other word for it. Like a dance, I tells you."

"Where was he last?" Karla prodded. The man's face fell, and he appeared confounded for a moment.

"Can't 'member," he said. "I's 'ear, though, that he's 'eaded to Paltryton." Karla sighed, slightly disappointed yet slightly satisfied. Well, even if it wasn't Karel, at least he was headed to the same place. Perhaps he would prove to be an interesting opponent. Karla so rarely ever lost these days; her skills had improved incredibly since her younger years. The sword, now, was apart of her…

…even if a part of her still hated to use it…

----

The roads were still muddy when Karla departed, and the sun had done little to harden them as she reached Paltryton. Her eyes scanned the crowds, hoping that she'd catch a glimpse of this new warrior. Of course, there was the thought that he had already left the city and that she could not have the chance to fight him. That suited her just fine too.

Her cloak was still soggy and heavy as she trudged towards the arena. She contemplated the thought of resting before heading over, but then she decided she would take the chance to be a spectator and see for herself who she would be up against in the competitions.

She found a seat in the upper rows of the arena. She situated herself comfortably amongst the rowdy crowd. While the people around her screamed and shouted, booed and cheered, she remained calm and collected. Above the heads of the hundreds in front of her, there was a view of the oval shaped fighting field. Two tiny dots of figures stepped out. She could make out that one wielded a sword, while the other had a lance in hand.

The sound of a mallet hitting a gong reached her ears, and the two lunged for each other. Even from her position, Karla could see the swordfighter's graceful steps and sinuous slashes. His opponent was no mere footman; he, too, was skilled in his art. She watched as the specks, which were their weapons, clashed. Against most swords, the spear would have been mightier, but Karla saw in fascination as the swordsman actually overpowered his enemy.

The soldier collapsed, leaving the swordsman as the victor. As they carried away his limp body, Karla could only assume that he was dead or mortally wounded. Either way, the crowds were pleased. They threw up their hands in a mighty and deafening roar. The swordsman bowed and left the scene, only to return in the next round, this time against a mage.

Fire flared, but once again, it could not bend the steel of his sword, and the anima user fell in defeat. So was the outcome of the paladin, the Pegasus knight, and the warrior. And yet, this swordsman did not seem to tire. He capped off each round with a flourished bow. And he was running out of challengers.

Karla disentangled herself from the audience and made her way to the registration window. The brute tending it looked at her in sight skepticism but asked her all the same if she would care to enter. Naturally, her answer was yes, and she put forth the necessary amount. With a wave of his hand, the man gestured her towards the back area, where she would stretch and warm up before entering the fray.

Two men would be going up ahead of her. Though she believed that it would not be long before they were finished off, she appreciated the time to limber up. Despite the fact, many of the contestants had perished to this man, she was not scared of coming to that same fate. After all, she risked her life every time she stepped out, and she had defeated many reigning champions before. There was the chance of being crippled, and whatever happened, she could always pull out the white flag.

Karla settled her bags in one corner, hiding them under her cloak. She pulled out her sword—the same iron weapon as Karel had given her. True, it was weak compared to the steel and silver she often faced, but her skills used it to its maximum, and the type of sword hardly mattered anymore. She would have preferred to pawn it for one of greater value, but sentiments prevented her from doing so.

The crowd cheered once and booed another, as Karla could only guess that the challenger had pulled the white flag. Indeed, he emerged, grasping one bleeding arm and giving Karla a look of warning.

"Don't do it," he told her. "You going to regret it." Karla just shook her head. She could hardly care about that. Pride meant nothing; only survival kept her fighting. And if she died, well, then at least she would no longer have to worry.

"You ready?" an arena assistant asked her. She nodded and moved through the ingress to the arena. The mob rumbled, eager to see more blood spilt. Karla took a breath to calm herself and unsheathed her sword. The infamous swordsman awaited her at the other side.

They took cautious steps towards each other, both of their weapons in hand. Karla began to make out the features of this illustrious fencer. And suddenly, something worse than fear gripped her body.

He was not eighteen. She knew he could be no more than fourteen. But he was handsome and mature in his looks. Dark hair fell carelessly across his equally dark eyes. He was tall, and though slightly built, there was the presence of toned muscles. The sun had deepened the tone of his skin. Because of all of this, it took her a moment to realize who he was.

His own eyes searched her face. Had she kept her long locks, then he would have identified her sooner. She knew he saw something familiar in her, but he was uncertain what that was. So when the gong resounded, he made no move and neither did she. Instead, they stood still, with their gazes intent on one another, despite the urges of the crowd.

Tears rose to Karla's eyes, and she could barely choke out her statement. "You've grown," she noted. As calm she was always was, Karla felt like breaking down. This was not what she expected. She wished it was not true, that it was some sort of foolish mistake. She did not want to fight him; she could not win against him. Even if he lacked the power to defeat her physically, Karla felt like she had already lost to him. She almost missed that childish innocence in his eyes as they widened in recognition.

"Karla," he gasped.

It was Karmon.


	5. Age Seventeen Part II

**Karla, Age Seventeen, Part II**

They stood there in mutual silence for several agonizingly slow moments. The crowd grew rowdier, and their catcalls made it increasingly harder for them to ignore their present situation. Karla's hand would tighten around her hilt, and then loosen as her arm threatened to slip the sword back into the sheath for good. Still, she had to keep control, so she would constrict her grip once more. All the while, Karmon stared incredulously into her eyes.

"I suppose…we must fight then," Karla murmured, her voice breaking every syllable. Karmon nodded.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, just as softly and mournfully. They could refuse the other's challenge; they were in an arena. The rules still stood, and one of them could very easily back out. Karla sniffed and attempted to keep her tears from blurring her vision too badly.

"Well, little brother, I suppose it is time I see how you've improved." She forced her lips to point up, but she could not keep it. They both hesitated for a moment, and then Karmon made the first move.

He faltered and stumbled. The crowd jeered, but they were happy that the action had started up again. After composing himself, his sword struck out again, and Karla met it with the cold clank of her own metal. Their blades parted, and they both took a cautious step back.

Karla lashed out this time. Agilely, she darted forward, making a diagonal slash across his torso, hoping with all her heart he would elude the blow or deflect it. There was a dull clink as he pushed her off again.

Heart pounding, Karla realized the skill he had acquired over the years. Though his reputation gave her high expectations before discovering his identity, knowing he was Karmon made her wary. Last she saw, he was clumsy and frustrated with his lack of talent.

As he parried her strike, Karla found herself tripping over her own feet as well. Her boots suddenly seemed heavy; for the first time in many years, the sword in her hand burdened her, like a heavy rod of lead. Still, she did not let it get the better of her. Her quick reflexes allowed her to dodge his next swinging swipe.

"I heard you had become strong, but I didn't believe it," he called out to her. Surprisingly, he returned his weapon and bowed. "I did not expect this, La-La." The first use of that old, annoying nickname made her almost break down as she realized it was almost endearing.

"Nor did I," she whispered back. To keep her from unleashing a spate of tears, Karla could only mumble her replies. Karmon's face darkened.

"Of course not," he scowled. From within his pocket, he retrieved a small, white handkerchief, something Karla had always heard Jargon tell his sons to throw away before every match. Karmon raised his hand high above his head and threw it forcefully to the ground before stalking out of the arena. The crowd, displeased with the match in general, booed as he left. Karla watched him disappear, before she too turned on her heel and calmly exited.

Of course, she only appeared calm. Her eyes glistened, and her heart wrenched. People stared at her as she left the arena, denying her prize or the chance to fight against another opponent. As though it would console her, she started to walk faster. Her body shook and trembled as she tried to keep the outflow of tears from washing her face. Her course was unplanned; she ended up walking around the circumference of the arena three times before heading straight into an unknown district of the town. No one paid heed to her, something she was immensely grateful for. Thoughts of leaving that very instance entered her head, but she shook them away.

No, she should try to find Karmon. Pausing a moment to pacify herself, Karla thought to where she might find him. Perhaps he would be at one of the inns or maybe she would see him browsing the wares of a peddler. The former seemed to be the best idea; so, it was the one Karla decided to go with.

There were three inns in that one town. The first two turned up no results; so, she was confident he was in that last one. She barged through the doors and skimmed the dark hallway with her eyes. Nothing, no one save for the innkeeper, checking over his tabs. Karla strode up to him.

"Is a man named Karmon here?" she asked. The man did not bother to raise his head from the accounting books, but he obviously heard her as he shook his balding head. "Are you sure?" A nod as he scribbled down a few numbers. "Sir, can you please check?" She must have said it more potently than she thought for he glanced up at her in annoyance.

"I said no," he snapped. "Now, 'less you want a room, get out of here…lady." His eyes flitted back down to his books. Karla stood there for another moment.

"Have you heard of his whereabouts?" she persisted.

"Out!" The man growled through clenched teeth. "I ain't got the time for this."

"Thank you, sir," Karla strained herself to say before marching out. It was useless. Karmon was long gone; he probably took the path Karla rejected, and he had departed already. Dejectedly, Karla staggered down the street. A slight pricking at the base of her neck alerted her.

She knew eyes were watching her; she could feel them burn through her skin. She flipped her head to the side so that she could see who was looking, but though the crowd was thinning, there was no one there.

Karmon…that was a possibility. With a shake of her head, she turned her eyes back down to the cobble street in front of her. She found that she staring at a pair of rough black boots halted in front of her. Her gaze wandered up to the face; Karmon had found her.

"La-la," he acknowledged her gravely.

"Karmon," she spoke lightly, scared that she would chase him off again for that unknown reason. His eyes bore down on her coldly, but she imagined her gaze, though soft to her, would probably be the same upon him. Karla knew she had grown hard over the years; slowly, her pleasant moments and bitter expressions were draining as she found no use for them in her solitary life.

"We need to talk," Karla said. Karmon nodded.

"That was my intent," he said curtly. Of course, he would not have hunted her out unless he had wished to speak with her. She tried to give him a small smile, but the muscles around her mouth felt stiff.

With a hand outstretched to direct her forward, Karmon pointed towards a small café, with an assortment of chairs and tables arranged outside of it. It was strange to be sitting down at one of these places; Karla had always seen them along the road, with people gathering outside of them, but she had never before been one of those people.

Like a true gentleman, Karmon pulled out a seat for her, and then pushed her chair in. After that, he plopped down in a chair opposite her, feet informally resting on the third and extra seat.

"Aren't you a bit young to be out alone?" Karla began the conversation. She was certain that Karmon was not going to be the one to break the ice. He sat there for a moment, playing with his hair by blowing the strands out of his eyes every time they settled.

"Weren't you?" It was true. Karla was very young when she was thrust out on her own, and she was inexperienced to boot.

"But I was forced out," she said. It was her excuse, though really, she still blamed it on herself.

"As was I." Karla's jowl dropped slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something but was incapable of forming the words. Karmon would never be forced out; the men were kept until they were ready to tackle the unforgiving life of a swordsman on their own. Something had happened.

"What? Why?" Karla's questions were fruitless; Karmon only shrugged in response, a half-hearted heave of his shoulders.

"I suppose…I was not worthy," he said after a few minutes of deliberation.

"For what?"

Karmon said something very quietly. His voice was so hushed Karla was almost certain that it was really just a sigh. But the way pitch changed in his voice and his eyes narrowed revealed that he had indeed spoken something. After a moment of replaying the sound in her mind, Karla could still not comprehend why but was now certain she had heard Karel's name spoken.

"Karel?" she asked. Karmon looked up at a bit surprised, and then shook his head.

"No, no, it was nothing," he assured her, but he cast his gaze away from her eyes. "So, how have you been?" The sudden change of topic startled Karla, especially with the hasty tone Karmon was relaying.

"Um, good, very good," she told him.

"I see you cut your hair." Karla pushed away a lock self-consciously.

"It was to find you." It was the half-truth. She did believe that by cutting her hair, she would obtain the information to find a brother, just not this particular one. "What about you?"

"I'm alright, I guess," he said nonchalantly. "Hungry?"

"Not really."

"Good, neither am I."

"So, what have been up to?"

"Well, in the two years I've been free—"

"Wait," Karla injected with a jolt of astonishment. "You've been on your own for two years?"

"Just about." His voice carried itself with indifference. His eyes settled on her. "Why do you care?"

"Because you're my brother, and I don't like the idea of you being alone so young" Karla said. True, some affection for him had been maintained through the years, and something inside of her tugged at her heartstrings just seeing him again. "When I—"

"That never mattered before," he spat out disdainfully, cutting her off. "You've never cared about your brothers. More specifically, you only cared about your brother— _Karel_." He spoke the name spitefully, as though it was a curse. The hatred that he spewed made Karla shudder. Karmon continued. "I've only been the weak one, the nuisance. Even you had to be better than me. Karel told father so. You've shamed me, Karla. I had to be worse than a girl!" His abhorrent glower was fixed on her intensely. "I always looked up to you, Karla. You were my favorite, but no, you didn't give a shit about me. You always loved _Karel._ I knew you were training, but I kept my mouth shut. If I had blabbed on you, you would have on your own with much earlier. But no, I let you practice, and in the end, it only hurt me."

"I loved you, Karmon," Karla tried to reach through to him. "I still do. You're my brother."

"Didn't matter much to Karel! Not even his own father meant much to him." Karmon was now screaming at her, attracting looks from nearby pedestrians.

"What do you mean?" Karla shouted back, her cheeks becoming enflamed with a sudden passion of ire. Every time he spoke Karel's name, Karla was only more bemused by what exactly what he was speaking off.

Karmon leapt to his with such a great force that his chair toppled backwards. "'You're not good enough, Karmon.'" Karla understood he was mimicking Karel's deep voice. "'You're not good enough yet.' That was what he told me, and I wish I was good enough when he—" He stopped abruptly. "Never mind."

"What?" Karla demanded to know. She rose steadily to her feet, her hand resting on her sword hilt in a threatening manner.

"Nothing." He, too, tightened his hand around his hilt.

"Tell me!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because you are a woman." As he continued on, she realized he was quoting Jargon word for word, in manner and in tone. "There are certain things in this family which women have no part in, have no need knowing nor involving themselves in." It scared her how much he resembled Jargon at this very moment. A tear scalded her face as it betrayed her collected looks and ran down the slope of her cheek. "You are a woman, Karla; therefore, you are exempt from this."

He disappeared. She did not know how he left— if he had ran or walked away with an arrogant strut—, she did not notice which direction he took. All she knew was that the rush of emotions left her blind and dumb.

----

Author's note: Been a while, eh? Took me a while to write this one out. I started it weeks ago but only was able to finish now. Some twists added, and the family secrets begin to show themselves. Review!


	6. Age TwentyOne

**Karla, Age Twenty-One**

Karla's ponytail bounced as she walked, sheath beating against her legs with every step she took. Her dark gaze washed over the crowd, involuntarily seeking out the one man she knew would not be there. It was habit now to search for Karel. Something inside of her urged her to give up such silly hopes, but it seemed that her life revolved so much around finding him that she could not give up her search.

Etruria's arenas were always roaring this time of year, and the foot traffic shuffled along at a lazy pace as tourists and vagabonds tried to figure out just where they were headed. The city of Culmore had three different arenas, and Karla was determined to make her mark in each of them.

As she grew in fame, Karla grew in the ways of her sword. It fought as a part of her; a bit of her soul was implanted in the shining silver gleam. In turn, the hard traits of her weapon had crept into her own spirit.

With a sigh, she shielded her eyes with her hand against the sun. The streets were so congested that she was having a difficult time navigating them. She nudged through the crowd, her eyes focused on the lines sprouting out of one arena's entrance.

"Whaa!" a high-pitched voice cried out, and before Karla's mind registered what was going on, she found herself on the ground. Her hands scraped against the pebble road, and someone stumbled on her leg. Next to her, another woman lay on the ground, who shortly rolled over onto her back. A few calming gasps left her mouth as her eyes slowly blinked open.

"Are you alright?" Karla asked as she picked herself up. Pushing up with one hand, the woman nodded meekly. A few boxes were sprawled around her ashen body, paled more so by the sudden encounter on the streets. Dark red hair frizzed out of her bun. Feeling responsible for the crash, Karla offered a hand out to help the lady up.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly, averting her eyes from Karla's face. She bent down to pick up one of her parcels. Karla watched as her cinnamon brown eyes flitted to examine Karla with a sidelong glance. Without warning, she shrieked, and the boxes flew up in the air again. A passerby expressed his annoyance with a groan, but other than that, her yelp had not attracted any attention.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Karla repeated. The woman's cheeks bleached to an even more pallid tone. Her hands quaked as she covered her mouth, from which sharp breaths inhaled and exhaled in quick succession.

When she was finally able to articulate her words, they came out as chokes. "Dear goodness, it's you."

Karla stared at the woman, trying to determine if she had ever met her before. A vague, faded recollection came back to her, though she could not identify where it came from. All she knew that she had come across this woman once upon a time, and from the timorous tremble to the constantly paling cheeks, she determined it was a meeting that obviously left the woman petrified of her.

"Do I-"

"Excuse me, I have to finish my deliveries," the woman interjected before scoping up the boxes in her tiny arms and rushing off into the crowd.

'_Strange,'_ Karla thought, but she dismissed it. Perhaps the woman had mistaken for another, and the familiarity was simply brought on by suggestion. Either way, it did not matter much to her.

Taking a step towards the arena, she was called back. "Karly!" The woman had cried it out, but the name- "Is that your name?"

Karla turned back coolly to see the woman peeking back at her over her deliveries. "It's Kar_la_."

"It's been so long; I'm sorry." Karla noticed that she was trying to calm herself down by slowing her erratic puffs of breath. "D-do you like tea?"

"I suppose," Karla answered tersely.

"I have a small flat by the smithy," she said. "Please, have tea with me?" Her soft voice was barely audible over the buzz of the streets.

"First, explain how you know me."

The woman faltered. Her mouth opened a few times to speak, but it just as quickly shut itself. Finally, she sputtered out her answer.

"I-I'm Alice. Remember me? I am-was Karl's wife."

------

Karla assisted Alice with her deliveries that day before returning with her to the "flat". Alice lived in a crowded boarding house, in a cubby-like room squashed between the kitchen and the dining room. Inside, a small cot was pushed up against the wall, with a chest taking up the other half of the room. A few treasures were scattered across the flat top of the chest- a beaded necklace, a candle, and a small silver box with flowers etched on the exterior.

"What happened to him?" Karla asked, sitting on the edge of the cot while Alice paced in front of her. A small cup of tea cooled in her hands; she hadn't taken a sip since it was handed to her.

"I don't know." Alice sighed. "He just up and left one day." Her voice cracked, and she wrung her fingers together. "He said he was going to meet your brother." She paused, searching for the name in her mind. "Karel," she spoke with a gentle gasp. "He was going to meet Karel."

Karel. Karla mulled over it in her mind. Karl and Karel had never gotten along very well. They were always rivals, competing for Jargon's attention and favoritism. Even after they left home, it was not completely implausible that they would meet again for a spar.

"It was a lie, of course," Alice gulped. Karla looked up at her in surprise. "I wasn't doing a good job as a wife, so he just left me."

"I'm sure that wasn't it," Karla assured her.

"But it was! When he left, he didn't say goodbye." Her eyes glistened with reawakened tears. "No acknowledgement of me. He's usually gone for weeks at a time; so, I didn't worry at first. But then months passed, and I could no longer support myself. It was then-" Her eyes fell down to her hands, and her lips pressed together in an uneasy silence.

"What happened?" Karla urged her.

"I found a note from a woman," she admitted, letting a single tear run down her cheek. "I'm not really good with my letters, but I could read the name on it, and I recognized the town. Griselle from Felicity. It's a town east of here. I could tell that he was having an affair, and no longer wanted me as a wife."

"What did the letter say?"

Alice shrugged. "I don't know. Didn't read it; would be too painful and like I said, I don't read too well. Karl once told me your father taught you all, but I wasn't so loved."

Karla smirked at the implication. Loved, right. She knew that she was nothing more than a _woman_ to her father: woman in the sense that she was not to be cared about, worried over, or loved. Perhaps there was a speck of affection in her father's heart for her, but it would carry only the required minimum amount of parental adoration.

"So I moved here to live with my sister and her husband, and when their brood grew too big, I moved into this place," Alice finished her story. Her gaze now was leveled with Karla's face. "You and your brothers always looked so much alike. I noticed that when I first met your family, so much alike. I recognized you even after all these years, though as a warrior. I see you've gone against your family's morals." Alice peered at her sword with a mild curiosity.

"It's a long story." She changed the subject. "I don't suppose you still have that letter. I could read it and tell you if my brother was faithful or not." Alice hesitated.

"Well…actually, I do have it," she confessed. "I kept it to remind me of the pain, so I would carry a grudge against him. It didn't work; I still like him all the same. He may not have shown it, but he was a good man." Turning around, Alice opened the top of the silver box and retrieved a folded piece of cream colored parchment. She handed it to Karla, who unfolded it to reveal the note.

The message was written in messy but feminine letters, with poor language. Karla skimmed through it once with difficulty over the peasant spellings before indulging in it in detail.

_Karl,_

_I right to u bcause I got news of Karel. My brother rote me. He say that he was koming with a man named Karel. U say u got a brother Karel & that u wanted to meat with Karel. They will be in Felicity in 2 weeks. _

_If u hurry, u can catch em. I kno u got a fight to pik with him & as long u don't bloody my garden, I don't kare none. I warning u, my brother is a friend of him & he will probly fight u too if u end up killing ur brother. Keep that in mind. _

_Be wel, _

_Griselle _

The possibility of Griselle being a secret lover was still there. Karl probably wouldn't have associated himself with her for any other reason, though he did seem to divulge an awful amount of his personal life with her. Feeling Alice's anticipating stare, Karla shook her head.

"No affair," she told her. It felt like the right thing to do, though Karla was not sure in the end why she cared. Alice beamed at her, and her face actually picked up color, a tinge of pink rimming her cheeks. "How long ago was this written?"

"Maybe a few months after I first met your family." She broke off, then ventured to ask, "What happ-"

"I don't know," Karla told her, knowing that Alice wanted some hint to the fate of her husband. "I'm curious, though. If you will excuse me, I need to find this Griselle." She looked down at the untouched tea. "Thank you for the drink."

Alice took it from her, and Karla stood from the bed. Just as she reached for the door handle, Alice wrapped her arms around her.

"You are a blessed woman," she sniffed. Karla stared down at her. She could feel the arms around her, but no feeling of personal satisfaction or joy–from the fact she helped this woman–flowed through her. Just a burning curiosity and desire to find Griselle. Perhaps she would carry some recent news of Karel. Without returning the gesture, Karla disentangled herself and left.

As she exited the building, the breeze greeted her face with a caress. East, Griselle had told her Felicity was to the east. Still, Karla knew from prior experiences that she would need better directions than that. Stopping a street vendor, she was told that if she headed east along the Jenson River, then straight north once she reached the springs, she would reach it after a day's trek.

Staring at the late afternoon sun, Karla decided it would be best to hole up for the night before departing early the next morning. If all went well, she would reach Felicity by evening, when it was still reasonable to meet with someone.

Indeed, the burnished stars still hung in the sky when she left the next morning. The river was at low tide, and her boots printed into the clay shores as she hiked along it. By early afternoon, she reached the lake and determined north by the position of the sun.

People still roved the streets when she took her first steps into the town. Looking about, Karla noted it was of moderate size, with an arena to the western end. She now knew what had drawn Karl here in the first place.

"Excuse me," she called to one pedestrian.

"Huh?"

"Do you know where I could find a woman named Griselle?"

The man paused a moment. Through his bleary eyes, Karla could tell he was searching for some bit of knowledge.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I do. She's…uh, Barry's wife! He's a magistrate, lives near the town hall in Center Square."

Karla gave him no thanks as she left. Strolling into the center of the town, which boasted a collection of finely ornamented buildings and a fountain spewing murky water, she had to inquire yet again about this Griselle.

"My wife?" The man she had asked- Barry apparently- had been a lucky target. Karla could almost understand why Griselle would have an affair with Karl if they had been doing just that. Barry's figure stood stout and short with a bald head, save for a few patches of gray. His nose was long and hooked with flabby and ruddy cheeks hanging down either side.

"I believe so."

"Eh, who are you?" he croaked.

"My name is Karla. I think your wife knew my brothers, and I'd like to speak with her if possible." Barry grunted in a sullen manner, but he gestured for Karla to follow.

He led her up a set of ten steps to the door of a townhouse. Bursting into the home, Barry called out Griselle's name once…twice…at the third call, she came running to greet him. Kissing him on the cheek, Griselle stooped over to greet her husband. When she straightened, her gaze fell on Karla.

"We have a guest?" Her looks showed her youthful age, much younger than her husband. Her dark hair was cropped short, and blue eyes reflected out at Karla with confusion, almost recognition. This confirmed to Karla that she had found the right person.

"My name is Karla," she introduced herself. "I'm-"

"You are Karla aren't you," she stated. "Karl once told me 'bout you, and there's a lot of family resemblance. You look like both your brothers, and ain't there a third?" Karla nodded. Griselle turned to Barry. "Excuse us darlin', I need to have a little girl's chat with Karla here." Barry grunted his agreement and waved them off as he huffed up the stairs to the second floor.

Griselle pulled Karla into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. A pot of stew boiled over the fire, and a table set with three places was put in the center. Taking a seat at the table, Griselle ushered Karla into the chair opposite her.

"So, what did you come here for?" she asked Karla, resting her head on one hand.

"I found a letter you wrote to Karl about eight years ago," Karla began. "I have some questions about my brothers." Griselle nodded for her to begin. "First, how did you know Karl?"

Griselle sighed. "I used to live on the outer edges of this here town, 'fore I married Barry. Supported myself by nursing the wounded at the arena, since none of them Elimine folk would touch 'em. Bring the herbs up from my garden every now and then. I remember treating a man with a nasty, deep gash. I asked him who did it, and right behind me, a voice said 'I did.' Turned round and there was Karl.

"Somehow, we got to speaking with each other. At first, I didn't like him much. Cold, mean, kind of person that has this uninvitin' aura. I told him 'bout my brother, who, uh, travels the same swordman's path as him, and that seemed to make us connect. He said he had brothers and a sister too, and he told 'bout one brother, Karel, who everyone adored, even though there was something wrong with him. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong with him, just that were was something. Then said that he started to poison the family, and-" she stopped for a brief second. "-and he poisoned the sister's mind."

"Karl felt that way?" No startling surprise but still, for Karl to voice this concerns troubled Karla. She knew he thought he deserved to be the favorite, but the idea that he hated Karel because he poisoned Karla's mind was new to her. To her, Karl never gave the slightest hint of liking her; why would he care if her mind was poisoned or not?

"He had a strict view on family positions," Griselle said. "Karel was defilin' that or something."

"I suppose." Karel did teach her the art of the sword after all. Karla went on to the next question. "How did Karel come into this?"

"Like I said, I have a younger brother—half-brother really, grew up with my step-pa— a swordsman," she started. "Left home at thirteen. He's smart, not a hick like me. He's strong, unpredictable. Think you know him, then he changes on you, just like that. Visited every so often, but hasn't in a while. Anyways, Lael met Karel in-"

"Wait, Lael!" Karla gasped out. "Lael was your brother?" In most situations, Karla would have pushed it off as a coincidence, but she could not forget his words, so long ago, that spoke of Karel.

"_I…have had the honor of traveling with him for a week. We dueled at the end; he won. He is a man of amazing talent. I should have realized you were related. There is not only a physical comparison, but one found in your swordplay as well."_

"You've met him?" Griselle said, her back snapping up straight. "When? I haven't seen him in years." Karla closed her eyes and hung her head.

"Lael's dead," she muttered softly. Opening her eyes, Karla saw Griselle's face darken.

"Did you kill him? Kill him like your brother tried to?" Griselle's voice turned into a deep growl.

"_We dueled at the end; he won."_

"No!" Karla refuted. "He- he was my teacher for a short time, and he left me with a cryptic remark about my brother. Perhaps you could clear that up for me." Karla's dark orbs glared into Griselle's light ones, which shone with a cynical distrust.

"Fine," she spat out. "After Lael met him, he brought him back. Said they were going to be traveling partners, but then at the end, Karel turned on him. Challenged him to a duel, or so he said. Madness, that's what it was." Griselle paused. "Don't know how to really put it. His eyes…they were crazy like. And he said funny things, like how he wanted to fight someone as strong as Lael and that he needed to experience it. He was a madman, nearly killed Lael, then said it was easy, too easy. Insulted my brother and hurt my pride too. I nursed Lael back to health, then he disappeared in the middle of the night."

Karla ruminated through this. Lael claimed he had only been with Karel a week, but by the sounds of it, Karel brought back a literally painful memory. He had probably downplayed it so that Karla wouldn't believe he knew Karel better than just acquaintances. He wouldn't want to associate himself further with the madman brother of a desperate girl.

"I know Karl headed this way. What about him?"

"Came right at the end of the duel. I was helping Lael, he was so hurt, but I know they didn't fight physically. Nah, they just threw words, and then Karel left. He said that the two of them wasn't good enough yet. Karl helped me bring Lael into the house, stayed 'bout an hour, then disappeared."

The door creaked open, and a small boy with babyish features stumbled into the kitchen. "Momma, I-"

"Honey, hold on a second." Griselle stood. "Well, hope that helped. Now go." Karla pushed up from her chair.

"One last thing," she insisted. "Did you and Karl…have an affair?"

Griselle grinned. "Like I said, he was real strict in family positions, and a second woman didn't fit into that," she said. " 'Sides, he might not have shown it outright, but he was awfully fond of his wife."

"He never returned to Alice," Karla told her. Griselle shrugged.

"Didn't go after Karel either. Told me himself that he was going to train more 'fore he challenged his brother. Wanted to make sure he could win. Don't make much sense if you ask me."

"Momma!" the boy whined. Griselle crouched down to scoop him up in her arms.

"You should go to our arena 'fore you leave. Make the stay worthwhile."

"I will. Thank you…for everything."

-----

The next day radiated with a sticky heat. Karla's bangs pasted to her forehead as she walked down to the arena. It was a larger stadium than she expected, and up close, she saw the faded entrance sign declaring it was "Cunnin's Coliseum".

The line to join up was also longer than anticipated. Apparently, Felicity was more popular than she had thought. The sluggish pace of the line gave her time to notice she was the only female contestant. No longer, though, did things like that bother her, at least not by much.

"Name, sweetheart?" the man behind the entrance screen asked her with a flirtatious smirk.

"Karla," she told him.

"Any nickname or title with that?" Every time she signed up, they asked her the same question, and every time she gave them the same answer.

"No, just Karla."

"Pity, pretty girl like you don't got one. Like a princess, aren't ya?" After Karla sent him an intimidating glower, the man sobered up. "Weapon?"

"Sword."

He threw a wooden chip with a number on it at her, and she paid him the obligatory amount before slipping into the fighter's entrance. A few men whistled at her as she took a seat in the waiting area. As she waited, Karla sharpened her sword at the wheel and warmed up with a few nimble stretches.

"Good luck, beautiful," a brute warned her before she stepped out into the ring. "Three day's champion. Maybe he'll spare you 'cause you're pretty." Karla ignored him as she walked out in the sunlight.

A berserker waited for her. His helmet covered half his face, leaving only the bridge of his nose and mouth exposed. Armor plated his arms and legs, but his chest was left bare, as a taunt. Only a few nicks, barely bleeding, marked his scarred and hairy chest.

"Easy," he spoke upon seeing Karla. The gong rang out.

The berserker made the first move, charging at Karla with his axe raised. Karla darted out of the way, slashing down at the bare back, but her blow missed and cut through air. He turned, snorting like a bull, and then waited for Karla to make her move. Calculating her actions carefully, Karla feinted to the right before slipping to the left. Her sword met with the metal of his arms with a clang that echoed through the arena, only bested by the crowd's jeers. The berserker had realized her tactic a second too late and raised his arm in a last second defense.

Before Karla could withdraw, his leg knocked into the back of her knee, causing her to stumble backwards. She caught her footing, but she could do nothing as he brought his axe down to her shoulder except purposely throw herself to the ground. The edge of the weapon caught with her sleeve and tore through it, but she was unharmed despite this.

Still, she was on the ground, and the berserker loomed over her. Falling had not proved to be a smart idea. Loosening her grip on the hilt of her sword, Karla reached into a hidden pocket in a slit on her skirt. She tugged something, revealing a corner of white material to the berserker, who retreated with a smug grin.

"Little lady had enou-"

Karla leapt to her feet and slashed out at him, cutting across his chest with her blade. He staggered backwards, surprised by her sudden lash. The material had only been the inside of her pocket, which tricked him while confusing the rest of the audience. But the spectators did not need to know all her ploys; her opponent was the only one who mattered

"Think I'd give up that easy?" she retorted. She had counted on him underestimating her, and with a short jab to his abdomen, he fell to his knees. In his surprise, the berserker dropped his weapon, and Karla kicked it at the hilt so that it skidded away, should he recover and try to reach for it.

One more strike was all it took to finish him, one thrust in the heart. The sword no longer shone silver but blushed with red. Karla recognized the man from the registration window as he rushed out to her side and raised her arm in triumph.

"The victor is Karla, Sword Princess!" The crowd burst with cheers and whoops. Karla smiled at the new title. "Thought a girl like you needed one," he explained to her. "Ain't fitting for a pretty and deadly lass like yourself to go without."

Karla quit when the sky turned as red the blood spilt that day. After wiping her sword clean, she left the Coliseum, wallet heavier, soul like lead.

To her right, a cloaked figure emerged. Karla griped her hilt and swiveled on her heel to face the person, but she relaxed after recognizing Alice's face under the hood.

"What are you doing here?" Karla asked her. Shaking, Alice darted forward with a hilt in hand.

"There was something else I had to ask you. I got my brother-in-law to bring me here," she explained. "Anyways, back when I first met you, Karl had a reason for going back," Alice confessed. "Told me afterwards. He wanted to get this sword because he felt that Karel didn't deserve it. He said your family passed down these twin swords, and that they were given to the worthy, but he could only get one of them, you see." She shoved it hastily to Karla. "He left it behind that night; I don't know why. But you deserve it, Karla. Take it."

Karla wrapped her fingers around the sheath. She recognized it, though it was not the same that hung from the mantle. The casing was hard and wrapped in thin strands of green silk. When she pulled it out, the blade glowed like no other. Two tassels, of the same shade of the sheath, bounced under her hand from the hilt.

Etched into the silver just above the hilt was the name: _Wo Dao._

-----

A/N: Eh, I don't like this chapter nearly as much as some of the others, but I had to tie up all the loose ends. I guess you could call this the end of the first arc of the story, and I'm kind of relieved. Next chapter Bartre makes his first appearance, though I'm dodging in and out of town until schools starts, so no promises on when that'll come out. Thanks to RLnaruhina for being my beta for this chapter.

Remember, make a Lemurian happy and review!


	7. Age Twentythree

**Karla, Age Twenty-three **

The wind had a salty tinge to it, Karla noted as she leaned on the guardrail of the ship. It had been her first sea trip ever, and already, she decided she didn't like it. The ship's swaying was annoying, to say the least, and there was hardly any room for her to stretch her legs, unless she wanted to stroll around the dank cabin or trip over the sailors on deck.

Today, however, a wave of nausea had swept over her as she curled up below-decks, accompanied by a merciless headache, and she had to stumble above to the fresh air to clear her eyes. Her hand went up to massage her temples. Just a while longer, she tried to assure herself, until they reached the shores of the Western isles.

Which isle was she trying to reach? The sea muddled her mind. Caledonia, that was it. Her eyes scanned the horizon, but she saw no land in the distance.

"Hello pretty lady," said a smooth voice. She looked up beside her; a man had joined her by her side. He stood tall and lanky, with a crop of red hair and a dagger at his waist. She regarded him coldly and gave him no response. "Got a bit of sea sickness?"

"No," she said. In her mind, sea sickness did not afflict her, rather just a passing headache.

"You don't look so well. Bet's it your first time out at sea. Bit intimidating at first, isn't it."

"It's boring, if any thing."

Her response was not as he expected, and he fumbled for his next words. "But it is your first time in the Isles."

She peered at him curiously. "How would you know that?"

"Because I know you're the Sword Princess, and I've been over every inch of those Isles, and none of those native folk know who you are." So he knew her. Her fame had grown in the years, and it was not especially rare that someone pointed her out after an encounter.

"Let me tell you," he went on. "Arena's a bit different out there. It's not to the death, like most places, but rather to the blackout. Etruria thinks it will constrain the violence. Sure, people die, but the officials don't look kindly on it." He ran a hand through his hair. "'Course, they're bound to change it one of these days. The place gets rowdier and rowdier as it goes on."

"Why are you telling me this?" She had already speculated that he was not a fighter himself, but she still thought it odd that he would share such information with her. Not that it mattered; an official would have filled her in when she entered the arena anyways.

"Just polite conversation, that's all," he said. He lied, or so Karla thought. Men never made polite conversation with her. Not even women made polite conversation with her! It was either a challenge or a night out, and neither went well with her. Duels outside of the arena ended up as nasty affairs, with innocent bystanders screaming murder and companions of the loser crying cheat and revenge. And she never took interest in the men- or that one woman from Bern- that tried to seduce her.

Her callous attitude drove the man away after several more attempts to spark up a conversation. Eyes fixated on the infinite waves, Karla thought through a new strategy. While she certainly didn't mind dealing with a chiding Etrurian official after killing a man in the arena, she did not want to be bothered with it. Too much of a hassle. She would limit her attacks, and she made a note to be careful and not to follow habit to thrust her sword through his heart after he fell, crippled or blinded or whatever.

The night slugged along at a slow pace. Karla only dozed off; her head pounded worse than earlier. At least the queasiness had subsided.

Dawn broke out just as the ship moored into the port. Impatience tore through her until the gangplank lowered, and they let the passengers leave. Her first steps off the plank swiveled the world around her. Perhaps a few hours of rest would serve her well before she tried to take on the arenas here.

The nearest inn was a portside motel. All the rooms were occupied, and since it was so early in the morning, no one had checked out. A few doors down, a sleepy tavern banged open its door to welcome the sailors. With a sigh, she made her way down the street and slid into a chair at the bar.

To her dismay, the entire place radiated with bright light that pierced her eyes and turned her head into a throbbing drum. As much as she rubbed her forehead, the ache did not lessen.

"Hangover?" the barmaid asked.

"No. I just got off a ship," Karla said. "I didn't know you get headaches on sea trips."

The woman waved it aside. "Oh, you get anything out there. That's why I hate ships. You never know who's sick, and you catch _everything_. My brother…"

Her prattling echoed in Karla's ears, and it intensified the pain, if anything. Karla stood to leave, cutting the chatting short. Just as she reached the door, the barmaid called out to her.

"There's an herbalist down a bit. I bet he could whip you up something. Go down to Northie's Inn and take a…right, I think. Yeah, it's somewhere over there. You'll find it."

The incredibly vague directions could have done the job if Karla's head was not exploding with agony. Facing the dazzling sunlight, she staggered back to the inn, took the right, and wandered down the streets and alleys until she found a side door to a building reading "Tay: Alchemist, Herbalist, and Brewer" in splotched paint.

Guessing this was the place, she forced the door open. No lock held it shut but rather stubborn and rusty hinges. After she inched it half-way open, she slid in. A foul odor instantly greeted her.

"Hello, hello," a man said from a backroom. He emerged with a box full of vials. Setting the box down, he wiped his hands on his apron and held it out for Karla. She didn't accept it. "So, what bring you here, ma'am?"

"I have a migraine. I was told you could give me something for it."

He nodded several times in quick succession, his white hair becoming a blur. "Yes, that's me, Tay, concocter of wonder medicines. I may be no doctor, but I'm just as good." He grabbed a pad, dipped a pen into an inkwell, and poised it over the paper. "So, what's the affliction?"

"I said, my head-"

"Is it, uh," he coughed, then continued sheepishly, "your time of month?"

Already, Karla did not like where this conversation was going. With a stark glower, she answered, "no."

"Heh, of course not. Just have to know what I'm making before I make it. So, let see, symptoms: light sensitivity?"

"Yes." He scribbled it down.

"Nausea."

"Well," she paused. "Yes, but I was on at sea so-"

"Had nothing to do with the sea," he assured her, adding it to his paper. "Besides, you can't be too sure. So, any hallucinations?"

"No."

"Ah, but how would you know they were hallucinations if you thought they were real?"

"Perhaps I should take my business elsewhere," Karla said, turning to leave. The herbalist clutched at her arm and pleaded with her to stay.

"Sorry! It's just more afflictions, more ingredients; more ingredients, more money. But I promise nothing that would hurt you." A desperate grin trembled up at her, and she turned back.

"Fine."

"I'll get on it right away. Of course, if you need it quickly, you could always slip me a T.I.P."

"A T.I.P.?"

"You know, T.I.P., tip, **_t_**o **_i_**nsure **_p_**romptness."

She tossed him a coin from her purse. "You're lucky I don't just hold you at sword's point to get it." The man paled.

"You're a nice lady, real nice. I better get on that remedy, though." He scurried into the back room.

For the next twenty minutes, she sat on a spindly chair while her medicine brewed. A faint aroma wafted to her nose, but a shout from the other room guaranteed her it was perfectly normal.

When Tay returned, he held a vial in his hands filled with a dusky liquid and a spoon clasped between his fingers. "A few doses in here, so if it's a chronic problem, you can just take another sip. Best take a swallow now." He gave her the spoon and poured a liberal amount onto it.

Karla lifted it to her lips. The smell did not impact her as pungent but rather sweet. Her lips parted, and she swallowed the contents of the spoon. The flavor was not terrible, but the aftertaste lingered with a sour touch. She returned the spoon.

"Now, the pay," Tay said before relinquishing the vial. He popped a cork into the top. "Now, since you've been real nice, I'll drop a few coins off the figure." She still paid an exorbitant sum, in her opinion, but Karla was just happy to be free of the place.

The potion took effect after several minutes. The light ceased to impair her, and the pounding in her skull dulled. She seemed well enough to fight, and indeed, her next destination waited at the local arena.

After signing up, she slinked in the back areas, waiting for her turn in anticipation. Finally, she could do what she came here for and not be distracted by a little head malady. Taking a little sword-powder out, she rubbed it over the Wo Dao.

With a sigh of relief, she could step out into the sunlit arena without the agony she suffered earlier. Her foe stood at the opposite side, a fighter with an axe in hand. Scruffy brown hair was restrained by a metal band; he had a broad nose and a thick neck.

The bell rang. The man ran towards her, axe raised. She slinked away. To her, her movements felt sluggish, but the scenery was a blur around her. The man looked taken aback by her speed, so that was a good sign, right?

Wo Dao firmly grasped, she lunged and sliced him. Slicing him was only what thought she did. Once her mind cleared, she found that her blade had thrust itself into his lower abdomen, and blood gushed out. It appeared to be a deeper wound than she had intended, and she could have sworn she aimed higher than that.

The man fell to his knees, then collapsed over to his side. The pain alone probably knocked him out. The bell sounded again as two men rushed out to take the fighter inside to the healers.

Karla stepped back. Her thoughts gyrated around her in a fuzzy swirl, but she dismissed it. 'Concentrate,' she thought to herself, but the word was swept up in the whirlwind of her mind.

The second contender was a paladin, whose appearance, in her indistinct world, likened to his steed. The two seemed to snort with the same contempt for her. Her heart pounded, not out of fear, not out of anxiety, but out of some strange unknown energy that pumped through her.

She was only slightly aware of the starting bell. The monstrous horse galloped towards her, and all she knew was that she had tried to evade him, but this time, her dizziness did not cause her to excel but to fail. The metal of the jagged spear point dug into her shoulder with a burning fury.

Her sword nearly fell from her hand in the sudden pain. It had not been the first time she was injured in combat, but for some reason, it hurt all the more. Her hand still curled around the hilt, albeit with a weak grip, and she slashed out blindly at the man. With a new sense of consciousness, the Wo Dao acted for her. She felt no responsibility, no control, just movement.

The fight passed like a dream. Karla experienced a strange floating feeling, and next she knew her eyes were staring down at a pool of blood flowing freely out of the mangled limbs of her opponent. He was most likely dead, but Karla did not feel like waiting to see if he was or not. She stalked off of the field, amidst a crowd of jeering spectators.

She withdrew after that, letting the healers pluck over her shoulder wound. The thumping of her heart increased so dramatically that it burned. The painful light returned, and she had to stare down at her feet in order to keep the world from tilting all around her.

Relief overcame her tense shoulder as the healer bent over her. The gem atop his staff glowed briefly, and Karla could feel the muscles mend and the skin grow back together. Lifting her head gently, she caught a glimpse of her bare shoulder. A thin pink scar ran over its bony slope.

As Karla thought it through, there were two possibilities. Either the medicine had done squat, and her dazed state was merely a symptom of her illness or the medicine had caused this. She was going with the latter, but at least, the migraine had not returned…yet.

Sunlight met her eyes with a rather unpleasant greeting. A small sharp pain cried out in the corner of her head, Shuffling through her things, Karla found the corked vial and threw it against the ground. The thin glass shattered, and the tonic seeped into the ground, leaving a dark stain against the dirt. She continued to stroll away from the arena.

"You!" Karla, at first, disregarded this outcry, figuring it most likely was not meant for her, but the hand that grasped her shoulder- the good one- told her otherwise. She turned to face her first opponent that day, that fighter that fell so soon. He was awake now and apparently healed. Luckily for this man, Karla noted, the magic arts preformed miracles.

"You!" he repeated.

"Yes?" She had to squint so that the light did not affect her, and that left her with a rather shady view of him.

"I want a rematch," he growled. Karla raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged off his request.

"No. Would be a pity to kill you," she said. A deep rumble resounded from the back of his throat, and she saw his hand tighten around the hilt of his axe. "Besides, don't you think I've beaten you enough for one day? You should be grateful you are still living."

"Braggart, I can beat you. Come on, we'll fight now." Karla shook her head. She knew to walk off at a moment like this would ensure an axe in her back, so she calmly leveled her gaze with his. She would have to mollify him somehow.

"Get stronger," said Karla. "And then maybe I'll take you on again, but I doubt we'll ever meet again."

Through clenched teeth, he told her, "We'll meet again. We're rivals now, me and you. Bartre, remember that name, toughest fighter alive!" Karla shook her head and turned to walk off.

He wasn't the first person to challenge her, nor first to demand a second go; so, Karla doubted she would remember it. However, the day turned out to be so odd and painful, even, that perhaps she would forever connect this Bartre with it.

With a shrug, she made her way to port. She wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible, even if that meant enduring another journey at sea.

----

Author's Note: Yes, Karla was drugged up when fighting Bartre. And for any of you thinking that Bartre fell too quickly, Bartre said himself her first strike knocked him out. Reviews are loved!

Thanks to JSB for betaing!


	8. Age TwentyFive Part I

**Karla, Age Twenty-Five Part I**

It was by chance she found herself in the midst of battle. She had no desire to fight this time, and even if she did, a bout of dizziness had come over her. Short of breath, she had barely crawled out of bed, but as always, she refused to let herself be weak.

She watched from atop the town gates as two sides clashed. Throughout her travels, she had heard whisperings of unstable times, but this was the first opportunity she had to actually witness it. Winged mounts claimed the sky, their loud screeches ringing in Karla's ears and making her shudder.

She had since lost her faith in cauldron-mongers since the incident with that strange herbalist all those years back, and on the occasion that she did fall ill, she simply waited it out. Besides, she was not truly ill this time; illness was fevers and coughs and a runny nose. Her exhaustion had simply caught up with her.

A bright flash of light exploded over the bloodied fields, and several screams cut through the air as fire blazed suddenly. They had a mage among them, Karla mused: probably more than one. Karla did not like fighting mages; they fell far too easy to her blade.

She turned around as black spots leapt before her eyes. A slight ache resonated in her head; this day felt far too hot and bright as it was. Their fervid fighting did nothing to alleviate the situation. Below, at the foot of the town gates, a group of town militiamen— barely experienced— accumulated, their thoughts turned only to maintain their puny defenses while two armies went at it before their gates. Karla had promised to help protect them—well, not so much promised as assure that they would not die so long as she stood near their walls.

Karla climbed down from the top of the gate, her eyes roving over each man that stood there. They were a pathetic lot—not soldiers but workers, simple men. Karla tried to remember why she was in this little hamlet in the first place.

Ah, yes, _Sir Dragonkeep._

She glanced around, wondering where the coward had scampered off to. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be here; she wouldn't be stuck in a middling town while a battle roared around her. She'd be in Ostia already, preparing for the largest jousting festival in Elibe.

And where there was violent jousting, swordfighters always lingered. Surely, Karel would be attracted to it. The best fighters in Elibe gathered there every year, and while she had never once run into him, she always heard…she always knew…he lurked somewhere, damnit!

Karla leaned back against the stone wall. Too long. She had been searching too long. How many years had she wondered, desperate for just a mention of his name? How much had she grown since the day she last saw him? It had become too much, and yet Karla could not abandon her quest.

Karel…he was her whole life. If she couldn't find him…her eyes slid closed to block off a sudden stinging in her eyes. No, she would not invite this weakness, not now at least. This sentimentality ruled her every actions, and she hated it, but still…she had to find him.

When her eyes opened, the ground jumped from beneath her. The dizzy spell had returned. She rubbed her temples and sighed. This whole town brought nothing but disaster. She couldn't wait to be rid of it.

A shadow fell over her, and Karla glanced up. Her annoyance escalated. It was him, the coward, Sir Dragonkeep. He stood six feet tall, had little hair but lots of muscle and a scowl etched into his Neanderthal features.

"You think you can take on an army," he grunted.

"I don't plan to," Karla said. "The worst that will happen is that the soldiers out there will try to burn this place down, but it's unlikely. You have nothing to fear." Her words echoed over the muffled din.

"I'm not scared," he said in an angry spat. Karla knew better. "How d'you reckon that anyhow?"

"They're too preoccupied with each other." Karla let her frustrations flow out into her words. This was the last man she wanted to be talking to.

"Well, then I s'pose I ought to sharpen my axe."

"You ought to hide," Karla snapped. A dull thud beat in her head. When was this going to be over?

"I'm Sir Dragonkeep," he said, very slowly and very low. "I won't be hiding from no army."

"You're a fraud. I wasted my time coming here to challenge you. You're nothing like the one I expected. You're a coward; I'd place my life in the hands of these inept militiamen over you."

She knew he would not lift a hand against her. She had already proved her point to him. Sir Dragonhide—or whatever that ridiculous name was—realized how true her words were. He stepped back, flexed his muscles, and with a throaty growl, walked away.

A cry came from the top of the gate, a stuttering call. "A horsemen approaches."

Chaos erupted. The militamen started shouting at each other, weapons clanking as they lifted them and readied for battle. Karla pushed herself off the wall and strut towards them, her sword unsheathed.

"I'll deal with him," Karla said as she shoved through them. "Close the gate once I leave." Before they could affirm her orders, she was beyond their grasp, standing in the face of battle.

She saw the horseman slow as he saw her. He wore green armor that attracted the sun in a gaudy way. Karla winced, her eyes squinting. If only she could make the sun disappear.

"You there," he called out. "Pretty lady. You're from that town, aren't you."

"And if I am?"

He lifted his hands from the reins of his horse in a peace offering. "You stay back now. Get back into safety. T'would be a tragedy if your pretty face was marred. Things could get nasty, and we don't want to involve the villages around here."

His chauvinistic remark turned into an expression of good-will. The pig couldn't help being a pig, but at least, he had something else in him.

"It won't go down easily, not while I'm here. You don't have to worry about us."

"Still, they've got ballistae. Best if you take cover."

Ballistae. Their aim was bad, but Karla understood the warning. Anything could go wrong. Very well. She'd listen to this man. Replacing her sword in its hilt, she prepared to leave him when suddenly he asked,

"What's a pretty lady like yourself doing all the way out here?"

She glared at him, which wasn't hard. Everything seemed to blur into the bright sunlight. Her head pounded. "Shouldn't you be fighting?"

"I'm not in any immediate danger. Come on, do tell."

Karla relented. Who knew, maybe the creep knew something about her brother. "I came here because I heard that a swordsman who fought like a demon was here. I expected him to be my brother, but he was nothing like my brother. He was just a brute - my brother's swordplay is far more graceful and beautiful. I am sorry, but I must leave. The town needs me."

"Oh, well, if you need me, Sain's the name!"

She heard him gallop off as she turned back to the gates. She looked, one last time at the battle, still in full force, and for a second, she thought she saw a familiar face, but her head started aching something horrible, so she left the site for good.

Author's Note: OMG, SHE UPDATED! No, you're not dreaming. I decided to return to Sword Princess. Because I stupidly forgot to save Mortality while I was on vacation, I decided to return to Sword Princess as I wondered if I could rewrite that other chapter. I know this chapter is short. I know it's not my best. I'm not even posting it in the Circle of Reviewyness. Why?

Because I just needed to get back into it. This chapter caused me so much trouble two years ago that I eventually forgot about it. It's a transition chapter. It needed to take care of a particularly useless scene. It needed to set up for the parts where Karla joined the army.

Just a warning. There is a bit of a plothole when it comes to Karla and Bartre's relationship. It's really tiny, and most of you won't notice it, but I figured I'd cover it just in case.. You see, Bartre tells Karel that Karla and him battle three times before she misses him and they travel together. But according to Bartre and Karla's, they only battled once before the incident in Ostia, and they battle many more times before they decide to travel together. So, to deal with it, I will be deviating from the game's canon on this one.

Now that my A/N is longer than the actual chapter, I think I'll sign out. Thanks!


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